O 


THE  DARK  STRAIN 


IT 

SHUBAEL 


THE 


Press 


PUBLISHERS 

114 
FIFTH  AVENUE 

Condon  NEW  YORK  montrea 


Copyright,  1903, 

by 
THE 

Hbbcy   prtsa. 


DEDICATED 

TO 
MY  DEAR  FRIENDS 

MR.  AND  MRS.  LEWIS 


2132899 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  PAG. 

Th£"Price  of  a  Secret I 

CHAPTER  II. 
Mother  and  Daughter  12 

CHAPTER  III. 
Battling  with  Fate 22 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Wedding 31 

CHAPTER  V. 
Oaklawn   ,. .    37 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Deepening  Shadows 49 

CHAPTER  VII. 
A  Bitter  Battle 59 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
A  One-sided  Affair 69 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Face  at  the  Window  79 

CHAPTER  X. 
Aphra    Rebels    89 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Aphra's  Imprisonment 98 


vi  Contents. 

CHAPTER  XII.  PAQK 

Bride  and  Bridegroom 109 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  Greydons  120 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Frank  at  Oaklawn    131 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The    Secret    Stairway 141 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Young  Hearts  153 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  Memorable  Day 163 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Suspected    171 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Discoveries    182 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Murder !    Murder !    194 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Aphra's  Return    207 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Butcher  Detective 217 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
An  Honest  Man's  Heart  . .  . .  228 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  Trial   ,•,,,, 238 


THE  DARK  STRAIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  PRICE  OF  A  SECRET. 

IN  the  interior  of  a  richly  furnished  parlor,  on  one 
of  the  most  fashionable  thoroughfares  in  New  York 
City,  sat  an  elderly  gentleman.  His  chair  was  drawn 
comfortably  near  the  window,  as  he  gazed  through 
the  fine  lace  curtains  on  the  cinematograph  of  city  life 
rushing  rapidly  along  the  street.  Scores  of  handsome 
equipages  drawn  by  shining,  prancing  horses  decked 
out  in  silvery  harness,  some  open,  exhibiting  to  view 
beautiful  women  exquisitely  gowned ;  some  closed, 
showing  heavy  beveled  glass  and  with  polished  sides 
reflecting  mirrorlike  the  passing  panorama.  Occa- 
sionally a  fine  turn-out  with  stiff-backed  coachman, 
prancing  steed,  silvery  harness,  beveled  glass  and  pol- 
ished sides  would  roll  by  on  silent  pneumatic  tires, 
bearing  a  tiny  dog  as  its  sole  occupant.  Some  petted, 
pampered  bonbon-fed  canine  sitting  upright  gazing  in- 


2  The  Dark  Strain. 

terestedly  about,  as  though  like  Cassar  of  old  he  were 
"monarch  of  all  he  surveyed." 

Not  far  away  steam  cars  on  the  "Central"  could  be 
heard,  the  engines  sending  forth  hoarse  snorts  and 
gre*at  puffs  of  smoke,  as  they  passed  the  openings  in 
the  avenue,  to  die  away  in  muffled  rumblings,  whirling 
on  their  underground  journey. 

The  j  ingle- j  ing  and  clap,  clap,  clap  of  the  horse 
cars;  the  sharp  ting,  ting  of  the  cable  line,  and  the 
whir-r-r  of  the  elevated  road  all  mingled  their  music 
to  render  the  medley  more  intricate,  while  bicycles  and 
baby  wagons  helped  to  drive  unwary  pedestrians  fran- 
tic and  add  to  the  risk  of  broken  bones  and  dislocated 
joints. 

The  elderly  spectator  appeared  to  enjoy  the  hurry, 
bustle  and  strife  immensely.  Sometimes  a  broad  smile 
would  cross  his  features  as  some  passerby  had  an  un- 
usually narrow  escape  from  the  ever-moving  vehicles. 
He  was  tall  and  finely  proportioned.  His  well-set  head 
crowned  with  an  abundance  of  snowy  hair  gave  him 
an  appearance  of  advancing  age  which  his  straight 
form  seemed  to  belie.  One  would  immediately  class 
him  with  the  wealthy  and  well  bred.  Yet  there  were 
two  perpendicular  lines  between  his  eyes — not  long, 
but  deeply  traced — which  plainly  announced  the  fact 
of  habitual  scowling.  His  blue  eyes  had  a  crafty,  cun- 
ning look  and  his  square  jaw,  with  its  protruding 
chin,  at  once  proclaimed  him  to  be  of  a  stubborn,  ag- 
gressive disposition. 

The  door  opened  and  a  woman  entered  the  room. 
With  a  grace  and  polish  one  might  well  envy,  the  man 


The  Price  of  a  Secret.  3 

arose,  bowing  low,  and  placed  a  chair  for  her.  She  was 
regally  beautiful.  Her  wealth  of  reddish  brown  hair 
dressed  most  becomingly,  her  rich  complexion  glow- 
ing with  health,  her  perfectly  molded  form  gowned  in 
heavy  blue  satin  with  waist  garniture  of  pale  yellow, 
all  went  to  make  her  a  very  queen  of  grace  and  beauty. 
After  a  few  pleasant  nothings,  so  necessary  in  the  cour- 
tesies of  the  day,  the  visitor  broached  his  errand  with 
a  smiling,  gentlemanly  deference. 

"I  have  come,  as  you  must  know,  Mrs.  Birney,  for 
mjt  answer." 

"Mr.  Westlake,  if  I  am  about  to  give  you  pain,  I 
most  sincerely  regret  it.  My  daughter  bade  me  s&y 
to  you  she  could  not  possibly  consider  your  offer  of 
marriage." 

"I  was  prepared  for  that,  my  dear  Mrs.  Birney,  so 
it  in  no  way  alters  my  determination  of  making  Miss 
Birney  my  wife,"  replied  the  visitor,  still  smiling  very 
pleasantly. 

"I  am  afraid,  then,  you  are  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment. Aphra  is  only  eighteen.  Neither  she  nor  I  have 
thought  of  entertaining  any  idea  of  her  marriage  for 
several  years  to  come.  You  know  she  has  yet  to  make 
her  debut;  it  is  most  unusual  for  a  girl  of  my  daugh- 
ter's position  to  marry  before  her  formal  entrance  into 
society.  Besides,  Mr.  Westlake,  when  you  remember 
the  vast  difference  in  your  ages,  you  must  see  the  in- 
congruity of  the  step." 

"Most  certainly,  my  dear  Mrs.  Birney,  I  am  sixty 
years  old,  while  your  daughter,  you  say,  is  just  eigh- 
teen. Still,  as  I  say,  I  have  fixed  my  mind  upon  hav- 


4  The  Dark  Strain. 

ing  her  and  as  yet  I  have  to  hear  a  person  say  no  to 
my  yes,  and  adhere  to  it.  I  feel  obliged  to  aver  that 
both  you  and  she  will  alter  your  decision." 

A  flash  of  indignation  shot  out  from  the  beautiful 
brown  eyes,  yet  Hester  Birney  replied  as  politely  as 
the  occasion  required :  "I  beg  to  differ  with  you,  Mr. 
Westlake.  I  have  other  plans  for  my  daughter." 

"Were  you  of  the  betting  fraternity,  Mrs.  Birney,  I 
would  willingly  put  up  ten  thousand  dollars  on  your 
daughter  becoming  my  wife,  with  your  consent,  within 
three  months." 

No  trace  of  anger  showed  itself  on  his  broad,  white 
brow.  He  looked  pleasantly  at  the  lady,  a  wide  smile, 
displaying  nearly  his  entire  set  of  white,  even  teeth, 
spreading  over  his  face. 

"If  I  were  of  the  betting  fraternity,  Mr.  Westlake, 
I  would  take  up  your  wager  on  the  spot."  The  brown 
eyes  flashed  angrily,  and  a  small  spot  of  burning  red 
appeared  on  either  cheek.  "Perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  explain." 

"Assuredly,  I  was  coming  to  it  directly.  It  may  en- 
lighten you  somewhat  when  I  tell  you  I  am  the  only 
son  of  Jason  Westlake  of  New  Orleans,  who  was  once 
an  intimate  friend  of  your  grandfather,  Alfred  Love- 
dale,"  he  replied,  still  smiling  broadly. 

Mrs.  Birney  turned  a  trifle  pale. 

"I  do  not  understand  what  that  has  to  do  with  your 
marrying  my  daughter." 

"No?  Well,  I  can  tell  you  more,  Mrs.  Birney.  For 
years,  ever  since  my  father  died,  in  fact,  I  have  been 
possessed  of  your  family  secret;"  pausing,  with  his 


The  Price  of  a  Secret.  5 

shrewd,  cunning  eyes  bent  upon  the  face  before  him 
to  note  the  effect  of  his  words. 

Hester  Birney  turned  paler  and  clinched  her  hands 
convulsively. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  whispered,  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  looking  at  her  tormenter  as  though  she  could 
have  felled  him,  with  that  diabolical  smile  on  his  face. 

"I  will  tell  you.    Let  me  whisper — it  is  not  for  mor- 
tal ears."    Leaning  toward  her,  his  square  chin  almost 
brushing  her  hot  cheek,  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 
^-Her   face  turned  ghastly,  as  with  eyeballs   fairly 
starting  from  their  sockets,  she  replied: 

"You  know  that!" 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  glittering  eyes  half 
closed,  the  same  expansive  smile  upon  his  face,  he 
watched  her,  as  a  tiger  watches  its  helpless  prey  in 
its  death  throes. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Birney,  your  daughter  is  the  price  I 
ask  for  keeping  this  secret." 

"What  if  I  refuse  to  pay  your  price?"  she  retorted, 
struggling  to  force  some  of  the  old  pride  into  her  tones. 

"Your  secret  will  be  published  in  the  Sunday  papers 
all  over  the  city.  See,  I  have  prepared  an  article  on  it 
exposing  the  whole  affair  since  1835.  I  thought  it  best 
to  be  prepared  for  the  alternative.  Read  it,  please,  and 
see  if  the  details  are  correct." 

With  trembling  ringers  she  took  the  proffered  paper 
and  tried  to  read  the  closely  written  page.  Her  hands 
shook  so  she  was  obliged  to  lay  it  upon  the  table  while 
she  pored  over  it  with  eyes  widened  and  darkened  with 
anguish. 


6  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Is  it  all  there?"  Mr.  Westlake  asked,  benignly,  when 
she  had  finished. 

"Do  you  think  it  is  the  act  of  a  gentleman  to  visit 
such  a  punishment  on  the  innocent?"  she  demanded, 
ignoring  his  query. 

"There  is  no  question  with  me  whether  it  be  the  act 
of  a  gentleman,  or  of  a  knave,  or  of  a  coward.  I  have 
a  fixed  determination  to  make  your  daughter  my  wife. 
That  alone,  is  the  price  of  my  silence.  Refuse  and 
this  is  made  known  to  all  the  world.  You  will  be 
hurled  from  your  position  as  one  of  society's  queens. 
Your  name  will  be  a  by-word  among  the  very  ones 
who  now  fawn  at  your  feet,  for  the  favor  of  your 
notice  or  an  invitation  to  one  of  your  entertainments." 

"And  in  the  face  of  all  this,  you  know  neither  I 
nor  my  daughter  are  in  any  way  to  blame.  Neither 
of  us  have  done  wrong.  It  is  the  sin  of  a  parent 
visited  upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generations." 

He  bowed  in  acquiescence. 

"Why  should  you  wish  to  marry  my  daughter,  hold- 
ing this  knowledge  that  you  do  ?" 

"I  am  the  better  judge  of  my  own  motives,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Birney,  and  I  deem  it  wiser  not  to  subject  them 
to  the  harsh  verdict  of  others." 

"How  long  may  I  have  to  decide  this  matter?" 

"Why  do  you  need  time  ?  Surely  you  do  not  intend 
accepting  the  alternative?" 

"God  forbid!  You  know,  only  too  well,  after  the 
manner  in  which  I  have  been  reared  and  have  reared 
my  daughter,  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  give  up 


The  Price  of  a  Secret.  7 

our  life  here.  We  are  not  wealthy.  I  am  just  able 
to  keep  up  appearances  and  am  depending  on  future 
events  to  better  our  fortune." 

"Such,  for  instance,  as  a  wealthy  marriage  for  your 
daughter  and  an  equally  wealthy  one  for  yourself." 

Not  heeding  the  interruption  save  by  a  change  of 
color,  Mrs.  Birney  continued :  "If  my  secret  were  to 
become  known,  we  should  be  ruined.  You  have  my 
consent.  I  am  powerless  to  do  otherwise.  Still  with 
Aphra  it  may  be  another  matter.  I  need  time  to  ob- 
tain^, her  consent.  She  is  a  lovable  child  and  has 
never  crossed  my  will,  simply  because  she  has  never 
had  reason  to.  Whether  she  will  agree  to  this  blind 
obedience,  is  something  I  cannot  say.  If  she  does,  it 
will  be  solely  for  love  of  me." 

"She  is  not  aware  of  the  secret  then?" 

"No,  thank  God!  She  knows  nothing  whatever  of 
it.  I  would  not  hang  a  millstone  about  her  neck,  nor 
curse  her  life  as  mine  has  been  all  these  years,  for  the 
world." 

No  shadow  of  pity  for  the  wretched,  helpless  woman 
fell  across  the  man's  heart  as  he  mentally  exulted  over 
his  victory. 

"This  is  Tuesday,"  he  mused ;  "I  will  give  you  until 
Thursday  to  obtain  your  daughter's  consent.  That 
will  leave  me  time  to  publish  my  statement  this  week 
should  she  refuse.  What  a  delicious  bit  of  scandal  it 
is !  What  a  furore  it  would  create !  How  it  would  be 
the  topic  in  all  social  functions !  Nothing  in  the  beaten 
rut  of  social  scandal  of  one  Carried  man's  familiarity 
with  another  man's  wife;  but  something  unusually 


8  The  Dark  Strain. 

startling.  A  hideous  imposition!  A  shameful  sin! 
A  serious  crime!  Egad,  it  is  almost  a  shame  not  to 
touch  a  match  to  the  train  of  gunpowder."  And  this 
smiling  devil  fairly  wet  his  lips  as  if  in  preparation 
for  the  anticipated  taste  of  this  sweet  morsel. 

While  the  beautiful,  blanched  face,  with  a  wild, 
hunted  look  in  the  brown  eyes,  quivered  with  every 
word  as  though  stung  with  a  lash. 

"For  God's  sake,  go !"  she  gasped,  unable  to  bear 
the  torture  another  moment.  "Have  you  no  mercy,  no 
pity  whatever  for  me  who  never  wronged  you?  Go, 
while  I  still  have  strength  to  bid  you  good-bye,  lest 
the  servants  suspect  something  wrong." 

In  accordance  with  her  entreaty,  he  took  leave  in  the 
same  urbane,  suave  manner  he  had  greeted  her.  When 
the  street  door  closed  behind  him,  he  passed  down  the 
steps  and  into  the  street  with  the  easy,  stately  bearing 
of  a  man  well  satisfied  with  himself  and  all  the  world 
besides. 

"I  will  not  take  a  carriage;  I  will  walk,"  he  solilo- 
quized. "Let  the  poor,  unfortunate  devils  who  have 
gloomy  faces  to  hide,  or  need  to  save  their  strength  or 
soles,  ride.  I  can  afford  to  walk,  especially  after  such 
a  victory  as  that.  Bah!  I  knew  she  would  come  to 
terms  and  so  will  the  lovely  Aphra.  I  might  almost 
prefer  marrying  the  mother,  but  I  am  afraid  I  could 
not  tame  her  quite  as  successfully.  I  might  find  a 
she-devil  on  my  hands.  What  will  my  dear  aristocratic 
sister  and  my  devoted  nephew  and  nieces  say  when  I 

present  them  with Oh,  well,  I  shall  have  a  good 

laugh  at  their  expense.  When  I  have  disappointed 


The  Price  of  a  Secret.  9 

them  at  every  turn,  I  will  acquaint  them  with  my  wife's 
family  secret  and  show  them  to  whom  they  are  related. 
Ha !  Ha !  My  highly-bred  sister  will  never  survive  the 
shock.  It  is  a  pity  to  cheat  the  buzzards  of  New  York 
society  out  of  the  pleasure  of  rending  the  carrion  in 
pieces  and  feasting  on  it  to  repletion.  Still,  I  will 
forego  that  pleasure.  I  shall  enjoy  the  other  explosion 
all  the  better  for  the  waiting,  besides  paying  off  old 
•scores,  too." 

He  walked  contentedly  along,  while  the  woman  over 
whom  he  had  won  his  ignominious  victory  sat  bolt 
upright  on  the  velvet  chair,  her  delicate  hands  clinched, 
her  eyes  blood-shot ;  a  ghastly  pallor  on  her  face ; 
fiercely  battling  in  all  her  pride  and  beauty  against 
bitter  fate.  She  had  felt  so  confident,  after  all  these 
years  of  silence  and  security,  of  never  being  confronted 
with  that  terrible  secret.  When  a  mere  girl  her  mother 
had  whispered  it  in  her  delicate  ear,  turning  her  soul 
sick  with  horror  and  loathing.  Years  had  intervened 
since  then,  and  the  dreadful  thing  was  only  remem- 
bered as  some  ghastly  skeleton  locked  in  the  closet  of 
her  heart.  From  being  nearly  overpowered  by  the 
knowledge  at  first,  she  had  arisen  in  proud  defiance, 
holding  her  beautiful  head  as  high — aye,  higher,  than 
before.  She  would  outwit  fate.  She  would  not  be  a 
mere  puppet  in  its  hands.  She  would  make  a  position 
for  herself,  so  that  her  superiors  should  admire,  her 
equals  envy,  and  her  inferiors  fawn  upon  her.  She 
had  buried  the  secret  in  her  bosom  and  married  a  man 
of  wealth,  keeping  always  in  view  the  desired  goal. 
For  ten  years  she  had  reigned  in  a  select  circle ;  not 


io  The  Dark  Strain. 

the  innermost  ring,  but  a  ripple  on  its  outer  edge.  She 
was  ambitious  to  rise  higher.  Fate  again  interposed. 
Mr.  Birney  lost  in  speculation,  not  all,  to  be  sure,  still 
enough  to  effectually  check  further  progress  in  the 
social  scale.  Then  her  husband  died.  For  seven  years 
she  lived  within  her  income,  laying  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture. Within  the  last  two  years  she  had  burst  upon 
society,  scattering  wealth  right  and  left.  Her  home, 
her  gowns,  her  jewels  and  her  entertainments  were  the 
topic  of  conversation  among  her  social  set. 

Like  the  desperate  gambler,  she  had  staked  all  the 
frugal  savings  of  years  on  this  one  last  play.  She 
would  bring  her  daughter  out  in  society  in  a  manner 
that  would  astonish  the  four  hundred.  No  pains 
should  be  spared,  no  economy  practiced.  On  Aphra's 
nineteenth  birthday  the  great  ceremony  should  take 
place.  She  was  already  deeply  in  debt,  but  so  skillfully 
did  she  steer  her  bark  no  one  for  a  moment  doubted  she 
had  unlimited  fortune  at  her  command. 

She  was  very  desirous  of  making  a  profitable  mar- 
riage for  herself,  and  that  right  speedily.  In  this  way 
she  could  secure  a  few  years'  respite  before  looking 
toward  settling  Aphra.  She  was  far  too  wise  to  think 
of  marrying  her  daughter  too  young.  "Twenty-five  is 
plenty  soon,"  she  had  often  said.  Now  when  every- 
thing was  going  so  smoothly  and  Aphra's  birthday  only 
three  months  away,  fate  had  once  again  crossed  her 
pathway.  This  time  she  was  beaten  and  must  give  way. 
No  thought  of  saving  her  daughter  and  starting  anew 
in  some  other  place  ever  occurred  to  her.  She  had  set 
her  very  soul  on  social  triumph  and  would  gain  it  at 


The  Price  of  a  Secret.  n 

any  cost.  She  was  too  near  her  goal  now  to  step  out 
of  the  race.  She  had  met  the  gentleman  who  admir- 
ably answered  her  present  purpose  and  set  about  win- 
ning him,  in  her  own  ladylike  manner.  No  very  diffi- 
cult task,  either,  since  the  gentleman  in  question  was 
only  too  anxious  to  put  up  his  millions  against  the 
charms  of  a  beautiful  wife,  especially  one  who  held 
such  an  enviable  position  as  Hester  Birney.  She  had 
made  a  very  thorough  study  of  the  requisites  of  the 
position  she  coveted.  She  knew  how  to  make  the  most 
oLJher  beauty  of  face  and  grace  of  form.  In  the  art 
of  conversation  few  could  equal,  none  excel  her.  Per- 
fectly adaptable  to  the  occasion,  she  could  interest  and 
entertain  every  grade  of  intellect  or  ambition,  from  the 
foppish  young  man  delighting  in  airy  nothings,  to  the 
profound  philosopher  absorbed  in  his  researches.  Gay 
young  girls,  match-making  mothers,  stately  grand 
dames,  parson,  politician,  society  man ;  she  met  each 
on  his  own  footing  and  charmed  all  alike.  Some  en- 
vious friends  wondered  how  she  managed  to  keep  pace 
with  all  the  every-day  occurrences.  She  seemed  to 
b^ve  stocks  and  politics  at  her  finger  ends. 

At  the  same  time  she  was  a  most  sympathetic  and  in- 
terested listener  when  she  met  one  who  would  rather 
talk  than  be  talked  to.  No  wonder  she  was  so  popular, 
so  much  admired  by  the  gentlemen  and  so  much  envied 
by  the  ladies.  She  fully  appreciated  her  success  and 
gloried  in  her  triumph.  Could  she  relinquish  it  now? 
Ah,  no !  Matters  had  gone  too  far  now  to  accept  Mr. 
Westlake's  alternative. 


12  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Birney  could  once  more  control  herself 
she  went  to  her  own  room.  It  was  a  luxurious  apart- 
ment, forming  a  fitting  setting  for  its  beautiful  occu- 
pant. A  short,  stout  negress  was  engaged  in  folding 
some  rare  laces.  She  was  very  black,  with  the  closely- 
kinked  hair,  flat  nose  and  thick,  protruding  lips  of  the 
typical  Southern  darky. 

"Why,  Mis'  Hestuh,  what's  the  mattuh?"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  caught  sight  of  her  mistress'  face. 

"Sarah,  that  Mr.  Westlake,  who  wants  to  marry 
Aphra,  knows  our  family  secret,  and  is  going  to  force 
me  to  give  her  to  him." 

"The  jumpin'  Jupiter!     How  does  he  know?" 

"His  father  was  Jason  Westlake,  of  New  Orleans. 
He  says  if  either  Aphra  or  I  refuse  he  will  publish  the 
whole  story  in  the  papers.  Oh,  Sarah,  you  have  so 
much  influence  with  her,  help  me !" 

"You've  got  no  right,  Mis'  Hestuh,  to  give  that  child 
away  like  that.  She  will  be  miserable  all  huh  life  and 
grieve  huhself  to  death." 

"What  else  can  I  do?    Would  she  be  more  miser- 


Mother  and  Daughter.  13 

able  in  that  way  than  to  have  that  awful  thing  made 
public  to  ruin  us  forever?" 

"The  world  is  wide,  Mis'  Hestuh.  You  an'  huh  an' 
me  could  go  some  place  whah  nobody  would  know  us. 
You've  got  money  'nuff  to  live  on  if  you  didn't  throw 
it  'round  so." 

"Sarah,  don't  talk  nonsense!"  exclaimed  her  mis- 
tress impatiently.  "We  could  never  do  that.  That 
awful  story  would  follow  us  wherever  we  went.  Be- 
sides, you  know  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Briscot.  I  can- 
not Jbreak  that  oif." 

"Do  as  youah  a  mind  to,  Mis'  Hestuh,  but  mahk  my 
Wuhds,  you'll  be  mighty  sorry  one  of  these  days." 

Sarah  had  been  in  almost  daily  association  with  Mrs. 
Birney  since  the  latter  was  but  a  slip  of  a  girl,  being 
first  her  own  maid  and  afterward  nurse  for  Aphra. 
Her  many  years  of  service  in  the  family  had  given 
her  liberty  of  speech  and  actions,  which  she  would  not 
have  otherwise  enjoyed.  This,  coupled  with  her  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  the  family  secret,  had  placed  her  on 
very  familiar  footing  with  her  proud-spirited  mistress. 
The  two  other  servants  were  extremely  jealous  of 
Sarah's  position.  They  could  not  understand  why  she 
should  assume  so  much  authority  over  the  entire  house- 
hold, simply  because  she  was  an  old  family  servant. 
Sarah  gloried  in  her  power  and  did  not  hesitate  to 
make  good  use  of  it.  It  was  Sarah,  not  Mrs.  Birney, 
who  gave  all  the  orders  to  the  others,  and  there  was 
no  appeal  from  her  law.  Mrs.  Birney  was  of  an  indo- 
lent, self-indulgent  nature  so  far  as  anything  but  her 
social  affairs  were  concerned.  She  was  very  glad  to 


14  The  Dark  Strain. 

have  Sarah  undertake  the  management  of  everything, 
resting  contentedly  in  the  knowledge  of  everything  be- 
ing properly  done. 

Sarah  was  devoted  to  her  nursling  and  was  very 
angry  at  her  mistress  appearing  so  ready  to  doom  her 
child  to  a  life  of  misery.  Although  she  did  not  give 
much  vent  in  words  to  her  disapprobation,  her  actions 
and  looks  plainly  showed  her  feelings.  She  and  "Mis' 
Hestuh"  often  clashed  in  their  opinions,  and  Mrs. 
Birney,  being  of  an  easy-going  disposition,  would 
rather  give  in  than  argue  the  question,  so  Sarah  gen- 
erally gained  the  day.  During  the  life  of  Mr.  Birney, 
she  always  won  her  victories  by  threats  of  disclosing 
the  well-guarded  secret  to  him.  While  in  reality  she 
never  had  such  an  intention,  she  found  it  a  very  suc- 
cessful means  of  attaining  her  ends. 

Mrs.  Birney  was  kindness  itself  to  all  her  de- 
pendents, and  would  at  any  time  gracefully  yield  to 
anything  that  did  not  touch  her  heart's  desire  of 
wealth  and  position.  Lamb-like  in  every  other  respect, 
the  lion  only  showed  itself  when  her  idol  was  threat- 
.ened. 

In  fear  and  trembling  the  wretched  mother,  gaining 
neither  comfort  nor  promise  of  help  from  the  belliger- 
ent Sarah,  sought  her  daughter  alone  and  unaided. 
She  must  ask  her  dearly  beloved  child  to  blindly  s^c- 
rifice  herself  to  an  old  man  who  was  in  no  way  de- 
sirable as  a  husband.  She  must  ask  her  to  make  this 
leap  in  the  dark,  having  no  idea  of  why  it  was  re- 
quired of  her. 

Aphra  lay  in  her  dainty  yellow-and-white  chamber, 


Mother  and  Daughter.  15 

stretched  out  full  length  on  the  downy  bed,  lazily  read- 
ing a  novel.  Her  waves  of  sunny  hair  were  spread 
out  all  over  the  pillow  to  dry,  after  washing;  her 
lustrous  brown  eyes,  so  like  her  mother's,  roaming  over 
the  printed  pages ;  the  color  coming  and  going  in  her 
round,  dimpled  cheeks.  With  the  soft,  silken  negligee 
falling  in  clinging  folds  over  her  graceful  figure,  so 
delicately  hiding,  yet  so  temptingly  displaying  the  out- 
lines of  the  lithe  young  limbs,  she  presented  a  rare 
picture  which  struck  a  chord  of  pain  in  her  mother's 
hear^. 

tft  the  sound  of  the  beloved  voice,  Aphra  sprang  up 
in  cheery  greeting,  the  golden  hair  falling  in  a  cloud 
about  her  shoulders. 

Seeing  the  anguish  in  her  mother's  face,  her  own 
took  on  a  serious  expression,  and,  winding  both  white 
arms  about  her  mother's  neck,   she  tenderly  asked : 
"What  has  troubled  you,  darling?" 
"Let  us  sit  down,  Aphra,  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 
"Sit  here,  my  queen,  and  I  will  sit  at  your  feet. 
Now,  what  is  it?    You  look  so  dreadfully  white  and 
haggard." 

"Aphra,  do  you  love  me  so  very  much  ?"  the  mother 
asked,  in  a  tone  of  tremulous  pleading. 

"Darling,  what  a  question !    You  know  I  do !" 
"Better  than  all  the  world  beside,  my  Aphra?" 
"Better  than  all  the  world  beside,  my  mother." 
"What — how  much  would  you  be  willing  to  do  for 
me,  dear,  if  it  were  necessary  for  you  to  do  some  great 
thing ;  make  some  great  sacrifice  ?"  softly  stroking  the 
golden  hair. 


1 6  The  Dark  Strain. 

"There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  you,  darling, 
if  it  were  necessary." 

"Nothing,  daughter?  Could  you  give  up  life  itself  to 
save  us  from  a  dire  calamity?" 

"Now,  darling,  you  are  talking  nonsense.  What 
could  possibly  require  any  such  thing  as  that?" 

"But  would  you  ?"  urged  Mrs.  Birney. 

"Yes,  mother,  I  think  I  could  even  do  that,"  replied 
Aphra,  solemnly. 

"And  never  know  the  reason,  Aphra?  If  I  were  to 
tell  you  it  was  impossible  for  you  to  know?" 

The  voice  was  so  low,  so  strained,  Aphra  could 
scarcely  believe  it  was  her  mother  speaking.  Softly 
she  lay  one  white  hand  on  her  mother's  heart.  How 
madly  it  was  leaping! 

Solemnly  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  the  two  pairs,  so 
very  like,  looked  into  each  other's  depths. 

"Could  you,  my  child?" 

"Yes,  mother,  I  would  try."  The  reply  seemed 
dragged  from  her  by  those  searching  eyes. 

"Aphra,  I  will  claim  your  promise.  You  will  have 
to  marry  Mr.  Westlake  within  three  months." 

"Oh,  mother!" 

What  a  world  of  anguish  was  in  that  cry.  She 
buried  her  face  against  her  mother's  knee  as  though  to 
shut  out  some  dreadful  vision.  One,  two,  three,  four, 
five  minutes  elapsed  before  another  word  was  spoken. 
Mrs.  Birney  continued  tenderly  stroking  the  bowed 
head. 

"It  cuts  me  to  the  heart,  dear,  to  exact  it  of  you.  I 
had  laid  such  different  plans  for  your  future.  For 


Mother  and  Daughter.  17 

years  I  have  been  planning  for  you.  It  is  all  over  and 
done  with  now,  Aphra,  so  far  as  this  is  concerned.  I 
cannot  tell  you  why  it  must  be.  I  can  only  say  Mr. 
Westlake  is  in  possession  of  a  family  secret  of  mine ; 
something  that  transpired  nearly  sixty  years  ago.  I 
have  kept  it  carefully  hidden  from  you.  I  made  a 
solemn  oath  in  the  hour  of  your  birth  that  your  life 
should  never  be  darkened  with  it  as  mine  has  been. 
The  knowledge  of  it  nearly  wrecked  my  life ;  it  should 
never  wreck  yours.  Mr.  Westlake  threatens  to  make 
pijblic  the  whole  affair  if  you  refuse  to  marry  him." 

"What  can  it  concern  us,  mother,  if  it  occurred  so 
long  ago?    What  would  be  the  result  of  his  publish 
ing  it?" 

"It  would  ruin  us  forever,  Aphra,  and  make  us  a 
by-word  among  all  who  know  us.  Never  could  we 
hold  up  our  heads  again,  and  yet  we  are  in  no  way 
to  blame." 

"Mother,  couldn't  we  go  away  from  here  and  live 
humbly  by  ourselves?  Let  us  give  up  all  this  pomp 
and  show.  I  don't  care  for  it.  Let  us  leave  all  care  and 
trouble  behind  us  and  just  live  on  our  income." 

"It  is  impossible,  Aphra ;  we  could  not  do  it.  The, 
story  would  follow  us  wherever  we  went,  and  we  could 
find  no  friends.  There  is  no  alternative." 

"He  is  so  old,  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  becom- 
ing his  wife.  I  would  rather  die,"  cried  the  girl,  sob- 
bing bitterly. 

"His  being  old  is  a  comfort,  dear.  He  surely  cannot 
live  many  years.  When  he  dies  you  shall  come  back 
to  me  and  we  will  live  happily  together." 


i8  The  Dark  Strain. 

But  the  mother's  consolation  could  not  comfort  the 
daughter,  whose  soul  turned  sick  with  horror  at  the 
very  thought. 

"Then,  too,  he  lives  so  far  away.  I  shall  be  wretch- 
edly unhappy,"  she  moaned. 

"You  will  make  new  friends,  dear.  Mr.  Westlake 
has  a  sister  living  somewhere;  very  likely  she  has 
daughters.  Then  you  will  have  neighbors,  you  know. 
Undoubtedly  he  will  allow  you  to  spend  a  great  deal 
of  your  time  with  'me,  too.  He  is  very  wealthy  and 
can  give  you  all  your  heart  could  wish."' 

"No,  mother,  he  cannot  do  that.  My  heart  wants 
youth  and  love — these  he  can  never  give." 

"He  is  coming  on  Thursday  for  his  answer.  You 
will  prepare  yourself  to  receive  him,  then,  will  you  not 
Aphra?" 

"fli  it  be  to  save  you,  mother,  I  will.  For  no  other 
earthly  consideration  would  I  take  s,uch  a  step." 

"I  thank  God  for  such  a  loving  child.  I  felt  sure 
you  would  do  this  for  me,  dear,"  murmured  the  mother 
as  she  pressed  a  lingering  kiss  upon  the  tear-stained 
face. 

"You  will  be  very  brave  during  all  this  trying  time 
and  keep  up  the  appearance  of  a  cheerful  spirit, 
Aphra?" 

"Yes,  mother,  I  think  I  have  pride  enough  left  not 
to  let  our  friends  suspect  I  am  being  sold  as  a  price 
of  silence.  If  I  did  not,  your  wish  would  be  all- 
sufficient  in  this  as  in  the  other,"  she  replied,  wearily. 

With  a  thankful  heart,  Mrs.  Birney  retired  to  her 
own  room,  leaving  Aphra  alone  with  her  sad  heart. 


Mother  and  Daughter.  19 

She  had  always  taken  life  so  easily.  Her  mother  had 
shielded  her  from  every  care  and  sorrow.  Sarah 
had  waited  on  her  all  her  young  life  with  a  devotion 
only  equaled  in  those  of  her  race.  The  sweet  girl  had 
never  seemed  more  than  a  child  to  her  faithful  nurse, 
while  with  jealous  care  the  mother  had  watched  the 
rosebud  opening  into  a  fuller  bloom,  and  had  tended  all 
her  plans  toward  the  one  end — a  grand  social  triumph 
and  brilliant  marriage. 

Aphra  was  now  suddenly  awakened  from  her  inno- 
cents, childhood's  dream  and  brought  out  into  the  full 
light  of  self-sacrificing  womanhood.  She  had  been 
looking  forward  to  her  debut  with  a  thrill  of  pleas- 
urable excitement,  though  well  content  to  view  it  from 
afar.  Not  the  slightest  wish  had  she  to  hasten  the  aus- 
picious day  even  by  one  hour. 

Sarah  came  in  to  arrange  her  nursling's  hair,  ^nd 
found  her  still  sitting  on  the  little  stool.  Her  chin 
was  resting  in  one  hand,  and  with  widely  solemn  eyes 
she  seemed  striving  to  pierce  the  future  and  solve  its 
mystery. 

''Miss  Aphra,  youah  not  goin'  to  give  in  to  youah 
mothuh,  ah  you,  honey?" 

"There  is  nothing  else  for  me  to  do,  Sarah." 

"You  can  say  you'd  soonuh  die  than  marry  him,  an' 
you  needn't  do  it,"  stoutly  persisted  the  maid. 

"Mother  says  there  is  no  alternative  we  can  possibly 
take;  that  we  should  be  ruined  forever." 

"Don't  you  discumfuddle  youah  head  about  that ; 
Mis'  Hestuh  is  selfish.  Folks  wouldn't  blame  huh.  She 
couldn't  help  it.  Of  course,  they'd  talk  about  it  round 


20  The  Dark  Strain. 

yeah,  but  she's  not  obliged  to  stay  yeah.  She  could  go 
'way  off.  It's  too  segastiatin'  foh  anything.  Mis' 
Hestuh's  not  any  bettuh  to  have  that  throwed  up  to 
huh  than  I  am  to  have  folks  tell  me  I'm  black." 

"You  must  not  say  that,  Sarah.  Mother  has  always 
had  my  welfare  close  to  her  heart.  She  would  not  ask 
this  unless  it  were  really  necessary.  I  should  be 
obliged  to  marry  in  a  few  years  anyway,  and  it  might 
be  to  some  one  worse  than  Mr.  Westlake.  I  cannot 
choose  for  myself.  I  would  be  expected  to  accept  the 
first  really  eligible  man  who  presented  himself.  My 
only  objections  are  his  age  and  being  rushed  so  out 
of  my  happy  homelife,  aside  from  his  living  so  far 
away  from  here." 

"If  you  do  marry  him,  I  won't  have  anything  to  do 
with  it.  I  just  wash  mah  hands  of  the  whole  mattuh. 
I  won't  wash  nor  dress  you,  nor  comb  youah  hair  foah 
the  weddin',"  declared  the  exasperated  Sarah. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,  Sarah.  You  will  not  turn  against 
me — will  you,  now?  You  know  no  one  can  dress  me 
so  well  as  you  can,"  coaxed  Aphra,  with  her  arms 
around  Sarah's  black  neck. 

That  night  Aphra  lay  awake  long  hours  trying  to 
think  of  some  way  in  which  she  could  avert  the  threat- 
ened calamity. 

"Why  does  he  want  me  to  marry  him  against  my 
will?  I  cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it.  He  is  so 
old.  Then,  too,  he  cannot  be  a  gentleman  or  he  would 
never  try  to  force  us  in  this  manner,"  she  thought. 
"Perhaps  if  I  were  to  go  to  him  frankly  and  tell  him 
how  I  feel  about  it  and  ask  him  to  release  me,  he 


Mother  and  Daughter.  21 

would.  I  believe  I  will  try  it,  anyway.  No  man  can 
want  an  unwilling  bride.  There  are  scores  of  othefs 
who  would  be  glad  to  get  him.  Let  him  ask  some  of 
them." 

She  felt  very  hopeful  of  her  ultimate  success,  and 
went  about  the  following  day  nearly  as  cheerful  as 
usual.  Mrs.  Birney  secretly  rejoiced  to  see  Aphra 
bearing  it  all  so  bravely,  little  thinking  upon  what 
frailty  the  girl  was  building  her  hopes. 


22  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BATTLING    WITH    FATE. 

THURSDAY  afternoon  came  all  too  quickly,  and  with 
it  came  Mr.  Westlake.  Mrs.  Birney  received  his  card 
with  a  disdainful  curl  of  the  lip.  But,  hiding  her  scorn, 
received  him  graciously. 

"Aphra  has  given  her  consent,  Mr.  Westlake,  to  save 
us  from  disgrace.  She  felt  very  badly  about  it,  and 
only  consented  for  my  sake." 

"I  am  very  much  pleased  to  hear  that.  How  soon 
can  she  be  ready  for  the  ceremony?" 

"You  are  making  your  own  terms,  and  undoubtedly 
have  a  date  fixed,"  Mrs.  Birney  coolly  retorted. 

Mr.  Westlake  smiled  broadly.  "What  penetration 
you  have,  my  dear  Mrs.  Birney.  I  had  made  so  bold 
as  to  set  a  time-1— the  fifteenth  of  July,  two  months 
from  to-day." 

"I  do  not  like  doing  things  in  such  haste.  It  is 
hardly  proper." 

"You  have  the  excuse  of  an  old  man  anxious  for  his 
bride.  I  wish  to  return  to  my  home  not  later  than  that 
date.  My  wife,  of  course,  must  go  with  me." 

"Why  could  you  not  return  for  her,  say  in  six 
months'  time?" 


Battling  With  Fate.  23 

''For  the  simple  reason,  my  dear  Mrs.  Birney,  that 
while  I  am  in  the  humor  and  have  my  eye  upon  the 
prize  I  wish  to  possess  myself  of  it." 

"If  it  must  be,  it  must  be;  perhaps  the  sooner  the 
better." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed.  Now  in  regard  to 
expenses.  I  do  not  wish  to  tax  your  generosity  too 
severely.  You  have  given  me  your  daughter;  I  beg 
of  you  allow  me  to  bear  all  expense.  No  one  will  be 
the  wiser  for  it.  It  is  just  a  little  matter  between 
ourselves." 

"I  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Westlake. 
I  am  not  quite  beggared  yet." 

"Pray  excuse  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Birney;  I  insist 
upon  it.  I  will  not  take  a  refusal  in  this  matter  any 
more  than  in  the  other.  Indeed,  so  sure  was  I  of  your 
answer,  I  took  the  liberty  of  providing  myself  with 
banknotes  before  coming.  They  are  so  much  more 
convenient  than  checks,  and  no  one  need  know  where 
the  money  comes  from.  As  a  matter  of  course,  you  de- 
sire to  see  your  daughter  suitably  married,  so  I  have 
made  sure  to  bring  plenty.  Please  me  by  using  it  at 
your  own  pleasure,"  he  concluded,  placing  a  huge  roll 
of  bills  in  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Westlake,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  accept  all 
of  this!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Birney,  astonished  at  his 
generosity. 

"I  think  you  will  need  it  all.  There  must  be  a  church 
wedding,  with  luncheon  at  Sherry's  and  reception 
afterward  for  the  most  intimate  friends.  The  trim- 
mings will  be  expensive,  as  well  as  music,  favors  and 


24  The  Dark  Strain. 

dozens  of  other  necessities,  not  to  mention  the  bridal 
trousseau.  Spend  it  all  if  you  can.  I  know  women  love 
to  spend  money.  Now  may  I  see  Aphra?" 

"Certainly.    I  will  tell  her  you  are  here." 

Mrs.  Birney  left  the  room  sincerely  congratulating 
herself  on  the  generosity  of  her  future  son-in-law.  She 
felt  a  trifle  guilty  at  such  a  breach  of  good  form  as 
accepting  his  money,  still  her  affairs  were  already  so 
much  embarrassed  it  would  have  completely  bank- 
rupted her  last  remnant  of  credit  to  give  Aphra  a  re- 
spectable wedding.  Again,  she  felt  it  was  no  more 
than  right  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  bear  the  ex- 
pense, since  the  whole  affair  was  entirely  his  own  do- 
ing. Mr.  Westlake  also  congratulated  himself  on  the 
success  of  his  little  scheme.  He  passed  up  and  down 
the  parlor  the  very  picture  of  self-satisfaction. 

The  door  opened  again,  and  Aphra,  with  a  hopeful 
heart — a  little  timid  and  fluttering — stood  before  him 
in  all  her  girlish  loveliness. 

"This  is  my  promised  wife?"  he  asked,  smilingly,  a 
triumphant  ring  in  his  voice. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Westlake,  I  want  to  tell  you  I  do 
not  love  you  and  never  can.  I  do  not  believe  you  will 
wish  to  marry  me  when  you  know  how  utterly  impos- 
sible it  is  for  me  to  ever  care  for  you  in  the  least." 

"I  know  all  this,  Aphra ;  I  expected  nothing  else.  I 
do  not  ask  you  for  your  love,  nor  even  your  liking.  I 
simply  want  you  to  marry  me.  Your  mother  informed 
you  of  the  necessity  of  the  step,  did  she  not?"  smiling 
blandly. 

"She  did.    Still,  I  cannot  think  you  will  insist  on  my 


Battling  With  Fate.  25 

becoming  your  wife  as  a  price  for  your  keeping  the 
secret.  Of  course,  I  know  nothing  whatever  of  it.  I 
did  not  even  know  of  its  existence  until  two  days  ago. 
My  mother  says  it  is  nothing  we  are  in  any  way  re- 
sponsible for.  Why  should  you  wish  to  persecute  us 
in  this  manner?"  The  lustrous  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I  cannot  discuss  my  reasons.  I  am  not  angry  with 
you.  You  show  only  a  very  natural  feeling.  However, 
I  insist  upon  your  acquiescence." 

"You  insist  upon  my  marrying  you,  knowing  I  am 
only^a  girl  of  eighteen  and  you  a  man  of  sixty !  You 
do  this  in  full  knowledge  of  my  not  caring  for  you.  I 
will  go  further — I  even  dislike  you.  Do  you  think 
a  marriage  thus  forced  on  me  and  for  such  reasons 
could  ever  breed  any  other  feeling  than  that  of  pro- 
found contempt  and  hatred?  Do  you  know,  I  think 
you  a  most  ungentlemanly  coward !"  cried  Aphra,  in 
burning  wrath. 

His  cunning  eyes  glittered  ominously  as  he  showed 
his  teeth  in  an  expansive  smile. 

"I  know  that,  my  dear.  Yet  it  does  not  alter  my 
decision  in  the  least.  You  will  be  my  wife  or  your 
mother's  disgrace  is  made  public  property." 

Aphra's  heart  sank.  She  knew  now  how  utterly  in 
vain  were  her  cherished  hopes.  Not  until  they  were 
so  ruthlessly  frustrated  did  she  realize  how  much  she 
had  built  upon  them.  Further  argument  was  folly. 
Hot,  bitter  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  ran  down 
over  her  cheeks  in  spite  of  her  heroic  efforts  to  check 
them.  Some  moments  elapsed  before  she  could  suf- 
ficiently command  herself  to  speak. 


26  The  Dark  Strain. 

"I  will  marry  you  to  save  my  mother  from  disgrace, 
but  remember  my  whole  soul  revolts  against  the  step. 
I  despise  you !"  and,  turning,  she  rushed  from  his  hate- 
ful presence.  Once  within  her  own  dainty  chamber, 
she  threw  herself  on  the  bed  sobbing  as  though  her 
childish  heart  were  broken. 

Mr.  Westlake  smiled  contemptuously  at  her  out- 
break. 

"Tantrums !  Ah,  well,  Miss  Aphra,  I  can  soon  over- 
come such  attacks  when  once  you  are  my  wife.  What 
a  pleasure  it  will  be  to  cool  that  temper;  bend  that 
pretty  head  and  break  that  haughty  pride.  I  could 
do  it  all  in  three  minutes  by  telling  her  that  secret. 
Yet,  I  will  not  do  that.  The  conflict  will  be  more 
spicy  accomplished  by  will  power.  Telling  her  the 
secret  would  be  too  tame.  I  will  humble  her  by  other 
means  and  win  a  more  glorious  victory." 

Mrs.  Birney  heard  Aphra's  flying  footsteps,  and 
hurried  to  the  parlor  to  learn  the  cause. 

"Miss  Birney  tried  to  beg  off,  if  you  will  kindly 
pardon  the  expression,  and  had  her  temper  slightly 
ruffled  by  the  conflict.  However,  it  is  all  settled  now. 
You  need  give  yourself  no  uneasiness." 

With  a  bland,  self-satisfied  smile,  he  courteously 
took  his  leave. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  shall  die  of  misery  as  his  wife," 
sobbed  the  unhappy  girl,  when  her  mother  came  to 
her.  "He  is  so  hard,  so  cruel,  so  ungentlemanly." 

"Oh,  mother,  I  shall  die  of  misery  as  his  wife," 

"My  dear  child,  how  you  pain  me.  I  thought  it  was 
all  so  comfortably  settled,  and  I  felt  so  deeply  grate- 


Battling  With  Fate.  27 

ful  to  you,"  responded  Mrs.  Birney,  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
reproach. 

"He  would  not  be  so  hard,  Aphra,  if  you  were  more 
tractable.  It  is  only  your  rebelliousness  which  makes 
him  appear  so.  He  means  to  be  kind,  I  am  sure." 

"Is  there  no  other  way,  mother?  Are  you  sure? 
I  would  rather  beg  in  the  streets  than  be  his  wife !" 

"There  is  no  other  way,  Aphra.  Except  one  of  shame 
and  disgrace.  I  should  die  before  six  months.  Never 
could  I  hold  up  my  head  again." 

"How  can  it  affect  us  so,  when  we  are  so  innocent? 
Is  ft  murder?" 

"No,  Aphra,  it  is  not  murder.  Although  we  are  in- 
nocent of  any  wrong-doing  the  stain  is  there,  like  the 
hand  of  Cain  upon  our  brow.  You  do  not  know,  my 
love,  how  bitterly  hard  it  is  for  me  to  ask  this  of  you. 
If  it  were  only  me  he  wanted,  I  would  have  accepted 
him  without  hesitation.  I  have  always  shielded  you 
from  every  care  and  every  sorrow.  I  will  tell  you, 
dear,  that  we  are  living  far  beyond  our  means  all  to 
secure  a  brilliant  entrance  into  society  for  you.  I 
lived  very  carefully  for  years,  until  I  could  gather 
enough  together  to  make  an  impression  on  the  class 
of  people  among  whom  I  intended  to  take  my  position. 
I  have  thrown  it  broadcast  to  secure  this  footing; 
and  to  arrange  for  your  debut  I  ran  into  debt  until  it 
became  necessary  for  me  to  arrange  for  a  wealthy 
marriage  for  myself  in  order  to  extricate  myself  and 
provide  for  the  future.  For  that  reason,  and  that 
alone,  I  accepted  Mr.  Briscot.  I  do  not  love^  him  in 
the  least,  but  he  is  very  wealthy  and  answers  my  pur- 


28  The  Dark  Strain. 

pose.  The  knowledge  of  this  hideous  secret  has 
blighted  my  whole  life,  and  would  have  made  an  im- 
becile of  me  had  I  not  arisen  with  all  my  will  to  com- 
bat it.  To  live  down  the  horrible  nightmare,  has  been 
my  sole  motive  in  making  this  position  for  ourselves. 
Now,  after  all  these  years,  am  I  to  be  robbed  of  my 
soul's  desire,  just  as  it  is  within  my  grasp?  Mr.  Bris- 
cot's  millions  will  place  me  on  the  crest  of  the  social 
wave,  with  the  very  elect.  Shall  I  be  obliged  to  forego 
this  cup  of  nectar  I  have  given  all  these  years  to  the 
brewing  and  go  out  in  the  world  a  laughing  stock  and 
a  by-word  of  every  one,  Aphra ;  consigned  to  an  un- 
timely grave  by  my  only  child's  hand  ?" 

The  tones  of  her  mother's  voice  pierced  Aphra's 
heart  like  a  knife.  She  saw  her  mother  a  martyr,  her- 
self an  executioner,  and  wondered  how  it  could  be 
she  was  not  more  ready  to  stay  the  axe. 

"You  see,  dear,"  continued  Mrs.  Birney,  in  a  soft- 
ened tone,  "you  will  be  making  a  very  wealthy  mar- 
riage. Mr.  Westlake  is  highly  respected  and  his  so- 
ciety much  sought  after  by  prominent  people  during 
his  entire  stay  North.  He  is  very  gentlemanly  in  ap- 
pearance, and  very  refined,  notwithstanding  his  action 
in  this  matter.  You  will  have  a  handsome  home  in 
Virginia,  and  move  in  a  very  select  circle.  There 
really  is  no  serious  drawback  save  his  age.  As  I  said 
before,  Aphra,  he  is  sixty  years  of  age.  It  is  not  at 
all  likely  he  will  live  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  years. 
At  that  time  you  will  be  between  twenty-eight  and 
thirty,  quite  young  enough  to  make  a  more  suitable 
marriage." 


Battling  With  Fate.  29 

Aphra  was  quite  comforted  by  her  mother's  as- 
surance, and  quite  willing  to  look  at  the  sacrifice 
through  the  rose-colored  glasses  held  up  to  her  eyes. 
Mrs.  Birney's  keen  eyes  noted  the  change,  and  she 
was  not  slow  to  make  use  of  it. 

"Now,  dear,  if  you  think  you  can  do  this  cheerfully, 
and  adapt  yourself  to  circumstances,  it  will  make  me 
very  happy.  A  great  burden  will  be  lifted  from  my 
heart.  It  will  only  add  to  my  sorrow  to  see  you  griev- 
ing yourself  ill,  over  what  cannot  be  prevented.  We 
have  appearances  to  keep  up  at  any  cost  to  ourselves. 
Will  you  try,  love?" 

Aphra  lovingly  kissed  her  mother,  dutifully  prom- 
ising to  do  her  best. 

"We  must  begin  preparations  at  once.  There  is  so 
much  to  be  done  in  a  very  short  time.  I  will  order 
the  announcement  cards  struck  to-morrow.  You  shall 
have  a  grand  wedding,  daughter.  One  well  fitting 
your  beauty  and  future  prospects.  You  will  make  a 
lovely  bride." 

Mrs.  Birney  ran  on  in  a  gay  strain,  determined  to 
raise  Aphra's  spirits,  and  to  interest  her  in  the  wonder- 
ful preparation.  She  was,  however,  by  no  means  easy 
in  her  own  mind.  Her  conscience  pricked  her  severely 
for  using  Aphra's  unselfish  love  for  her  as  a  means  of 
coercing  the  child  into  so  preposterous  a  marriage. 
She  was  very  conscious  down  in  the  depths  of  her 
worldly  heart  of  being  actuated  by  selfish  motives. 
She  bravely  struggled  against  the  conviction,  and  des- 
perately sought  to  protect  herself  against  her  accusing 
monitor. 


30  The  Dark  Strain. 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  she  said  to  herself,  after  the  in- 
terview with  Aphra.  "I  cannot  give  it  all  up  now. 
Had  this  come  to  me  years  ago,  amidst  my  early  strug- 
gle, I  might  have  told  him  to  do  his  worst.  Now,  that 
I  am  just  on  the  point  of  gaining  all  I  have  fought 
so  long  and  bitterly  for,  I  cannot  yield.  I  have  secured 
my  position,  and  Mr.  Briscot's  large  fortune  is  just 
within  my  grasp.  I  cannot  give  it  up." 

The  proud,  beautiful  woman  walked  the  floor  of  her 
room,  wringing  her  hands  in  agony. 

"I  have  spared  her  the  awful  knowledge  which 
caused  me  so  much  suffering.  I  have  borne  it  all  alone 
without  one  word  of  sympathy  or  consolation.  It  is 
no  harder  for  her  to  marry  him  than  for  me  to  bear 
all  I  have  borne  in  silence.  If  she  could  realize  the 
horrible  truth,  I  am  sure  she  would  gladly  choose  the 
lesser  evil.  She  has  been  so  carefully  nurtured,  I  am 
sure  the  shock  would  kill  her.  No,  it  is  for  her  best 
good  as  well  as  my  own.  I  have  paid  too  heavy  a  price 
for  my  triumph  to  forego  it  now.  The  loss  would 
madden  me,  to  say  nothing  of  having  that  secret 
known.  I  must  try  to  conciliate  Sarah,  too.  She  is 
so  set  against  it.  She  cannot  understand  my  position. 
I  will  make  her  a  present  of  five  hundred  dollars  if 
she  will  be  reasonable,  and  help  me  in  this.  Thank 
God,  Robert  Birney  died  before  this  happened.  He 
would  certainly  have  found  it  all  out  then.  Sarah 
would  have  told  him  surely  before  she  would  have  al- 
lowed this  marriage  to  take  place." 


The  Wedding.  31 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   WEDDING. 

THE  two  succeeding  months  were  fraught  with 
myth  care,  anxiety,  bustle  and  hurry  to  Mrs.  Birney ; 
and  with  secret  grief  to  Aphra.  Nevertheless,  she  was 
very  brave,  even  cheerful  before  others,  only  indulg- 
ing in  her  misgivings  secretly.  Sarah  had  been  bought 
over  with  a  promise  of  accompanying  Aphra  to  her  new 
home,  and  all  preparations  proceeded  satisfactorily. 

The  announcement  of  the  engagement  between  Har- 
mon Westlake  and  Aphra  Birney  had  caused  a  good- 
sized  ripple  of  excitement  in  social  circles.  Polite 
society  elevated  its  aristocratic  eyebrows  in  well-bred 
surprise  to  learn  of  the  fastidious  Mrs.  Birney  bestow- 
ing her  daughter  in  marriage  before  her  debut;  but 
considering  Mr.  Westlake's  reputed  wealth  there  was 
no  great  cause  for  wonder,  since  that  sort  of  thing 
takes  place,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  nearly  every 
day.  So  polite  society,  after  shrugging  its  dainty 
shoulders  a  little, — oh,  a  very  trifle, — politely  accepted 
the  state  of  affairs  and  begun  to  be  very  much  inter- 
ested in  the  forthcoming  ceremony. 

So  the  time  had  rolled   swiftly  along,  each   day 


32  The  Dark  Strain. 

completing  some  elaborate  detail  of  the  looked-for 
event.  The  memorable  day  had  arrived.  The  entire 
household  was  astir  very  early,  as  the  ceremony  was 
to  take  place  at  high  noon.  What  a  flutter  of  excite- 
ment every  one  was  in.  What  bustle  and  rustle — ex- 
cited maids  hurrying  to  and  fro  like  hens  on  hot  grid- 
dles, not  knowing  one-half  the  time  what  they  were 
hurrying  for  nor  where  it  was.  Continually  running 
upstairs  for  nothing,  then  back  downstairs  for  some- 
thing to  bring  it  in.  Some  as  cross  as  a  bear  with  a 
sore  head,  others  as  smiling  as  a  basket  of  chips. 

Precisely  at  twelve  the  coaches  containing  the 
bridal  party  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  the  well-filled 
church.  A  silken  canopy  stretched  from  the  portico 
to  the  very  curbstone,  jealously  screening  the  bride 
and  bridesmaids  from  view.  With  trembling  foot- 
steps, Aphra  walked  up  the  aisle,  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  her  father's  cousin.  She  looked  very  pale  and  very 
lovely  in  her  rich  gown  of  ivory  silk,  with  its  costly 
trimmings  of  lace  and  pearls.  Then  came  the  six 
maids  in  dainty  gown  of  delicate  pink  and  green,  with 
white  picture  hats  laden  with  gracefully  sweeping 
plumes. 

The  little  maid  of  honor  walks  sedately  in  her  place, 
bearing  the  heavy  gold  band  on  a  tiny  silver  tray. 
Two  little  chaps,  one  in  pink,  the  other  in  green,  sup- 
port the  bride's  train. 

Slowly  up  the  long  aisle  the  procession  passes,  white 
from  the  organ  ripples  soft  music  floating  out  over  the 
bank  of  ferns  studded  with  pink  and  white  roses  and 
carnations.  The  whole  interior  of  the  church  is 


The  Wedding.  33 

fairly  hung  with  foliage  and  blossoms  in  the  three 
colors,  and  the  air  is  redolent  with  their  fragrance. 

The  vestry  door  opens  and  the  groom,  attended  by 
his  best  man,  issues  forth.  The  ushers-  take  their 
places,  and  the  solemn  ceremony  begins.  A  prayer, 
the  reading  of  the  sacred  service,  the  exchange  of 
vows,  placing  of  the  ring,  another  prayer,  and  all  is 
over.  Nay,  not  over — just  begun. 

To  pealing  notes  of  lordly  swelling  music  they 
march  down  the  aisle.  The  organ  must  have  caught 
the  triumphant  glance  of  the  stately  bridegroom's  eye, 
an«f"7s  sending  forth  its  grand  triumphal  harmony. 
Aphra  Birney  is  dead.  Aphra  Westlake  is  born.  Only 
a  few  words  and  a  life  is  made  or  marred.  Only  a  few 
moments  of  time  and  a  soul  is  ushered  into  happiness 
or  cast  into  despair.  Till  death  doth  part — how  awful 
the  words,  yet,  oftener,  how  lightly  spoken. 

Aphra's  brain  reeled,  when  her  mother  took  her  for 
one  brief  instant  in  her  arms  and  called  her  by  her  new 
name.  In  a  maze  of  bewilderment  she  heard  the 
guests  wishing  her  much  joy,  and  congratulating  her 
husband.  A  heavy  mist  seemed  before  her  eyes,  and  an 
unearthly  din  in  her  ears  as  she  sat  at  the  table  among 
the  guests.  She  replied  to  remarks  addressed  to  her, 
and  even  smiled,  as  though  in  a  dream.  Nothing  ap- 
peared real  to  her.  To  have  saved  her  life  she  could 
not  have  told,  the  next  day,  what  courses  were  served ; 
ifer  of  what  they  were  composed. 

All  around  was  merriment  and  gayety.  Again  and 
again  the  deft  waiter  noiselessly  removed  the  dishes 
and  replaced  them  with  others.  Every  dainty,  de- 


34  The  Dark  Strain. 

licious,  tempting  dish  one  could  wish  for  was  pro- 
vided in  abundance,  and  wines  in  great  profusion. 
Hester  Birney  had  proved  herself  an  apt  manager,  and 
had  spent  the  money  wisely  and  well. 

At  last  the  party  dispersed.  The  wedded  pair  re- 
turned to  make  ready  for  the  journey  South,  by  the 
evening  train.  The  rich  wedding  gown  was  exchanged 
for  a  traveling  suit  of  tan  broadcloth.  The  bridal  cos- 
tume was  carefully  packed  into  one  of  the  huge  trunks 
by  Sarah's  skillful  hands,  and  the  baggage  sent  on. 

Aphra  was  so  very  glad  to  know  Sarah  was  to  ac- 
company her.  It  made  the  parting  seem  less  severe. 
She  would  still  have  one  tie  to  bind  her  to  her  precious, 
happy  past.  While  she  was  in  her  room  preparing  for 
the  journey,  a  few  more  intimate  friends  were  enjoy- 
ing themselves  in  the  parlor  below,  making  charming 
comments  on  the  looks  of  the  bride  in  particular,  and 
everything  in  general. 

Very  skillfully  Mrs.  Birney  inveigled  the  bride- 
groom into  an  adjoining  room  for  a  few  parting  in- 
junctions. 

"There  are  a  few  things  I  wish  to  mention,  Mr. 
Westlake,"  she  began. 

"Why  not  Harmon,  now  ?"  he  smilingly  interrupted. 

"Really,  I  would  feel  it  a  presumption  to  address 
you  in  that  familiar  manner,  especially  since  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  call  me  mother.  Now  as  to  what  I  wished 
to  say.  I  want  you  to  promise  me  never  to  reveal  that 
secret  to  Aphra.  I  consider  she  has  done  her  part 
in  consenting  to  become  your  wife.  I  do  not  want 
to  crush  her  with  that  knowledge." 


The  Wedding.  35 

"I  can  safely  promise  that  I  will  never  tell  my 
wife  her  family  secret." 

"Thank  you.  One  thing  more.  Will  you  bring 
her  up  for  at  least  a  part  of  every  summer?  She  has 
never  been  separated  from  me,  and  I  know  it  will 
be  very  hard  for  her." 

"Most  certainly.  I  have  no  desire  to  keep  my 
wife  from  her  mother.  So  long  as  she  is  docile  and 
obedient,  I  will  be  very  happy  to  bring  her  North 
every  summer,  and  also  to  have  you  visit  us  at  your 
leisure.  I  do  not  intend  being  a  Bluebeard.  I  only 
ask  that  she  be  cheerful  and  obedient." 

"I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  kind.  I  shall  probably 
not  be  able  to  visit  her  during  the  coming  winter. 
Now  that  I  have  seen  her  settled  in  life,  I  have  my  own 
marriage  to  prepare  for.  I  anticipate  a  honeymoon 
trip  to  Europe,  where  undoubtedly  we  will  spend  the 
winter." 

"Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  the  coming  event. 
I  congratulate  you,  Mrs.  Birney,  in  keen  appreciation 
of  your  skill  and  diplomacy.  Really,  I  am  proud  to 
know  my  wife  has  such  a  wonderful  mother.  What 
an  army  general  you  would  make !"  he  exclaimed,  in 
bland  admiration. 

"Pray,  keep  such  remarks  to  yourself,"  replied  Mrs. 
Birney,  with  an  indignant  blush. 

Time  sped  onward  and  the  hour  for  leave-taking 
came  all  too  soon.  Outwardly  calm,  yet  with  a  pale 
face  and  sinking  heart,  Aphra  returned  her  mother's 
last  embrace  rather  coldly,  perhaps ;  but  she  dared 
not  trust  herself  to  any  display  of  warmth  lest  the 


36  The  Dark  Strain. 

barrier  give  way  and  their  friends  discover  the  bit- 
terness in  her  heart.  Quietly  she  took  her  place  in  the 
carriage,  by  her  husband's  side,  never  once  looking 
back  toward  the  dear  home  with  its  crowd  of  happy 
smiling  faces  calling  out  good  wishes  for  her,  and 
was  rapidly  rolled  away. 


Oaklawn.  37 


CHAPTER  V. 

OAKLAWN. 

*NEAR  the  northern  boundary  of  Virginia  stands  an 
old  stone  mansion  erected  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  in  colonial  days,  long  before  the  Revolutionary 
War.  It  has,  in  its  day,  been  a  typical  English  castle, 
and  was  built  by  an  English  lord,  who,  for  reasons 
best  known  to  himself,  desired  a  stronghold  here  in 
the  new  country.  Journeying  hither,  he  had  selected 
this  spot  and  erected  his  home,  and  had  lived,  pursued 
the  fickle  goddesses  of  fate  and  fortune,  and  died. 
On  one  corner  of  the  ancient  building  stood  a  square, 
stone  tower  of  five  stories.  It  had  been  erected  evi- 
dently as  a  sort  of  lookout  port,  commanding  as  it, 
did  an  extensive  view  of  the  surrounding  country. 
Part  of  the  tower  was  in  ruins.  A  great  portion  of 
masonry  had  given  way  in  one  corner,  and  in  fall- 
ing had  carried  a  large  part  of  the  floors  of  two  stories 
with  it.  The  fallen  stones,  cement  and  timbers  had 
since  lain  in  a  great  pile  of  rubbish  on  the  lower 
floor. 
The  other  three  corners  were  still  intact,  and  the 


38  The  Dark  Strain. 

walks  were  hung  with  faded,  moth-eaten  scraps  of 
drapery,  which  flapped  aimlessly  to  and  fro  in  the 
breeze.  Overhead  some  remaining  carved  beams,  black 
with  age,  still  clung  to  their  moorings,  threatening 
at  any  sudden  jar  to  become  dislodged  and  come 
crashing  down  to  join  their  fellows  in  the  heap  of 
debris. 

The  upper  portions  of  the  tower  still  held  together 
as  though  in  defiance  of  the  huge  cracks  running  in 
various  directions.  A  beautiful  English  ivy  crept  up 
over  the  ancient  ruin,  clinging  lovingly  to  the  time- 
worn  walls  as  though  it  longed  to  hide  the  ravages 
with  its  glossy  green  leaves.  Nearly  all  the  lower 
part  was  covered  by  this  gentle,  tender,  creepy  thing. 
Even  the  gaping  corner  it  had  bravely  attempted  to 
hide,  festooning  it  with  sweeping  branches  like  the 
entrance  to  a  veritable  bower. 

Adjoining  the  tower  and  connecting  it  with  the 
more  modern  part  of  the  dwelling,  was  what  had 
evidently  been  the  main  part  of  the  English  lord's 
castle.  It  was  in  somewhat  better  repair  than  its  tall, 
square  neighbor,  yet  its  chimneys  had  been  demol- 
ished and  its  turrets  and  gables  leaned  as  though 
too  aged  to  hold  themselves  upright.  The  most  hab- 
itable portion  of  the  entire  structure  seemed  to  have 
been  built  not  more  than  fifty  years.  It  looked  very 
youthful  beside  its  elderly  attachees,  so  widely  dif- 
ferent was  its  style  of  architecture.  Broad  chimneys, 
large-paned  windows  and  encircling  piazzas  all  served 
to  make  the  distinction  very  marked. 

Extensive  grounds,   that  could   scarcely  be  called 


Oaklawn.  39 

lawns,  stretched  away  from  the  house  on  all  sides. 
No  attempt  seemed  to  have  been  made  at  high  cultiva- 
tion. Indeed,  the  massive  trees,  wild  shrubbery  and 
rocks  gave  one  the  impression  of  nature's  being  the 
designer  and  cultivator. 

The  nearest  residence  to  Oaklawn  was  two  miles 
away.  Houses  were  few  and  far  between.  Resi- 
dents depended  more  upon  neighboring  towns  for 
social  pleasures  than  on  their  immediate  neighbors. 

Mr.  Westlake,  who  owned  Oaklawn,  generally 
spefit  his  winter  months  in  entertaining  a  few  kindred 
spirits  at  his  home.  While  in  summer  he  journeyed 
about  from  place  to  place,  making  new  acquaintances 
or  partaking  of  the  hospitality  of  old  ones.  Having 
plenty  of  money,  he  was  always  welcomed  warmly 
among  the  better  classes  wherever  he  chose  to  go. 
He  preferred  being  considered  a  gentleman  of  cul- 
ture and  refinement  away  from  home,  since  he  had 
ample  opportunity  of  indulging  his  Bohemian  tastes 
under  his  own  roof  tree. 

Night  was  falling  over  the  earth  when  the  capa- 
cious coach  landed  its  burden  at  the  front  piazza  of 
Oaklawn.  The  house  looked  so  dark  and  desolate 
that  Aphra  could  not  repress  a  shiver  as  she  invol- 
untarily drew  nearer  to  Sarah's  dusky  form.  Mr. 
Westlake  raised  the  heavy,  old-fashioned  knocker  and 
let  it  fall,  sounding  four  distinct  knocks.  In  silence 
they  waited.  No  sign  of  life  made  itself  manifest, 
all  was  still  as  the  grave.  Again  the  four  knocks 
sounded,  followed  by  another  period  of  waiting.  After 
a  third  attempt  was  made  a  faint  light  came  straggling 


4O  The  Dark  Strain. 

through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters,  and  in  another 
moment  the  heavy  door  was  swung  backward,  dis- 
closing to  view  a  woman  with  a  candle  in  her  hand. 
Holding  the  flickering  light  above  her  head,  she  peered 
out  at  the  weary  travelers. 

"It  is  I,  Mrs.  Jicks,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Westlake. 
"Be  so  good  as  to  let  us  in." 

"Well,  I  declare !  Did  you  send  word  ?  I  have  not 
heard  from  you,"  she  remarked,  stepping  aside  and 
making  as  though  about  to  close  the  door  after  him. 

"One  moment;  I  am  not  alone." 

As  Aphra  and  Sarah  stepped  within  the  hallway, 
the  woman  stared  at  them  in  surprise. 

"Mrs.  Westlake,  allow  me  to  introduce  my  house- 
keeper, Mrs.  Jicks." 

Mrs.  Jicks'  surprise  widened  and  deepened.  She 
fairly  glared  at  the  unlucky  Aphra.  Dropping  a  stiff 
curtsey,  she  deigned  no  reply  to  Aphra's  rather  trem- 
ulous greeting. 

"We  will  go  to  our  room  at  once,  and  will  be  ready 
for  supper  in  thirty  minutes." 

With  this  information,  Mr.  Westlake  motioned  Mrs. 
Jicks  to  lead  the  way  up  the  staircase.  Without  a  word 
she  obeyed  his  gesture. 

"This  will  be  your  room,  Mrs.  Westlake,"  he  con- 
tinued, throwing  open  the  door  of  a  large,  gloomy- 
looking  room,  containing  a  massive  set  of  furniture. 

"Mine  is  just  across  the  hallway,  and  Sarah  will 
have  a  room  on  the  servants'  hall." 

Mrs.  Jicks  lighted  two  tall  wax  candles  in  heavy 
silver  candlesticks  for  Aphra,  and  after  performing 


Oaklawn.  41 

a  similar  service  for  her  master,  betook  herself  down- 
stairs with  compressed  lips  and  flashing  eyes. 

She  was  tall  and  stout,  with  jet  black  eyes  and 
hair  and  of  very  commanding  presence. 

Aphra  looked  about  her,  half  in  terror.  The  room 
looked  so  large  and  full  of  shadows;  so  bare  and 
empty  beside  her  dainty  room  at  home.  The  very  fur- 
niture seemed  awe-inspiring. 

"Oh,  Sarah,  you  must  remain  in  here  with  me.  I 
shall  die  of  fright  if  I  am  left  alone  all  night  in  this 
big/?bom." 

"Certain,  Miss  Aphra.  I'm  not  goin'  to  leave  you 
alone  heah.  Mis'  Jicks  can  say  just  what  she  likes. 
I  know  my  place,"  growled  Sarah.  "I  shan't  take 
any  ordahs  from  huh.  She's  not  much  whituh  than 
I  am." 

"Be  careful,  Sarah.  Don't  do  anything  to  gain  their 
enmity.  We  are  in  their  power  and  must  try  to  live 
at  peace  with  them." 

"They  won't  see  much  peace  if  they  go  meddlin'  with 
this  yeah  child.  I  don't  put  up  with  impudence  from 
anybody.  I'll  just  take  care  of  myself  an'  you,  too, 
honey." 

By  the  time  Sarah  had  assisted  Aphra  to  don  an- 
other gown  and  prepare  herself  for  supper,  Mr.  West- 
lake  knocked  at  the  door. 

Aphra  timidly  followed  him  to  the  dining-room, 
feigning  not  to  see  his  extended  arm.  A  bountiful 
meal  was  laid  upon  the  table,  to  which  their  sharp- 
ened appetites  did  ample  justice. 

Like  all  the  rest  of  the  house,  the  dining-room  was 


42  The  Dark  Strain. 

furnished  with  heavy,  dark,  ancient-looking  furniture. 
The  polished  floor  and  wainscoting  were  almost  black. 
Everything  gave'  evidence  of  wealth  and  seemed 
planned  on  the  same  massive  scale.  Even  the  silver 
was  heavy,  richly  chased  and  discolored  with  age 
and  disuse. 

While  Aphra  was  partaking  of  her  first  meal  in 
her  new  home,  Sarah  was  making  the  acquaintance  of 
four  servants,  as  black  as  herself,  in  the  kitchen.  They 
were  very  shy  at  first,  but  soon  grew  more  familiar 
and  asked  questions  pretty  freely.  Sarah  was  not  to 
be  caught  napping,  and  answered  questions  very  war- 
ily, especially  those  concerning  her  mistress.  The 
news  of  the  marriage  had  come  with  a  shock  to  all 
the  household,  and  filled  them  with  curiosity. 

The  servants  were  all  ignorant  darkies,  very  in- 
ferior to  Sarah,  both  in  matters  of  dress  and  conversa- 
tion, a  fact  she  was  quick  to  note,  and  set  rules  for 
her  actions  thereby. 

"I  'low  you  doan  git  no  sech  chicken  pie  as  dat  up 
Norf,"  ventured  Liza,  the  fat,  greasy  cook. 

"We  often  have  it  just  as  good,"  coolly  replied 
Sarah. 

"How  long  you  bin  wiv  youah  missy?"  interposed 
Aggie,  a  pert-looking  maid. 

"Since  befoah  she  was  bawn." 

"Sho',  you  doan  say !  Reckon  she  mus'  lak  you 
powahful." 

Sarah  smiled  rather  scornfully. 

"When  was  the  weddin'?"  queried  the  other  maid, 
gathering  courage  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 


Oaklawn.  43 

"Thursday,"  Sarah  replied,  briefly. 

The  little  pickaninny  of  a  kitchen  maid  stood  behind 
the  cook's  chair  gazing  at  the  newcomer  with  wide- 
open  eyes  and  mouth. 

"I  s'pose  s'  long's  she  was  marryin'  massa,  it  mus' 
been  all  highfluten,  eh?"  suggested  Liza,  in  hopes  of 
hearing  a  detailed  account. 

"Well,  I  guess  you'd  think  so.  It  was  one  of  the 
swellest  weddin's  that  evah  was  in  New  Yawk  City. 
An'  that's  sayin'  a  good  deal." 

/"S'pose  dey  had  lots  of  flowahs  an'  fixin's  an'  silk 
dresses  an'  wittles  an'  sich  lak,  eh  ?" 

"Moah  than  you  could  get  in  this  whole  house,"  re- 
plied Sarah,  regardless  of  the  truth.  Seeing  they 
wanted  to  hear  about  it,  she  thought  she  would  give 
them  all  the  information  they  craved. 

"It  was  in  a  church  six  times  as  big  as  this  whole 
house.  We  had  twenty-foah  bridesmaids  and  twins 
foah  maids  of  honor  an'  six  pages  to  carry  the  train. 
It  was  ten  yahds  long.  Three  bands  played  the  music. 
Then  we  had  a  luncheon  of  twenty-five  courses,  an' 

the  carriages  each  had  eight  horses  to  draw  them " 

and  on  and  on  her  tongue  rattled  until  four  pairs  of 
eyes  fairly  bulged  out  of  four  woolly  heads  in  the  ef- 
forts of  their  owners  to  swallow  all  the  wondrous  tale, 
while  the  little  kitchen  maid  divided  her  time  between 
awe-struck  spells  of  open-mouthed  speechlessness  and 
transports  of  joy  with  her  heels  in  the  air. 

Upstairs  the  meal  had  passed  off  very  quietly. 
Aphra's  spirits  were  at  a  very  low  ebb.  Still,  she 
tried  to  answer  her  husband's  remarks  in  something 


44  The  Dark  Strain. 

more  than  monosyllables.  She  was  very  glad  when 
an  opportunity  offered  to  plead  fatigue  and  return  to 
her  deep-shadowed  chamber.  Sarah  soon  returned  to 
her  mistress,  and  before  another  hour  elapsed  they 
retired,  Sarah  lying  on  a  couch  near  her  mistress'  bed, 

Scarcely  had  they  settled  down,  when  Aggie  rapped 
at  the  door. 

"What's  wantin'?"  called  Sarah. 

"Mis'  Jicks  tole  me  to  tell  you  dat  I'll  show  you 
youh  room  longside  of  mine." 

"I'm  goin'  to  sleep  heah  to-night,"  replied  Sarah, 
and  Aggie  went  on  her  way. 

After  the  house  was  silent,  Mrs.  Jicks  entered  the 
library,  where  Mr.  Westlake  sat  leaning  back  in  a 
large  stuffed  chair,  eyeing  scrutinizingly  a  marble 
bust  on  the  shelf. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Jicks ;  I  have  been  expecting  you.  Pray 
have  a  chair,"  he  exclaimed  most  affably. 

"I  don't  want  to  sit  down,"  she  retorted,  sharply. 
"I  want  to  know  what  you  mean  by  this  freak  of 
insanity." 

"Meaning  my  marriage,  I  presume.  Well,  my  dear 
Jicks,  I  mean  no  offense  to  you,  certainly,"  he  cheer- 
fully replied. 

"You  may  as  well  drop  that  rot,"  exclaimed  the 
angry  woman,  glaring  savagely  at  him  from  beneath 
her  bent  brows.  "You  know  well  enough  what  it  is  to 
me  to  have  you  bring  a  wife  here.  Haven't  you  prom- 
ised me  time  and  again  you  would  never  do  that? 
What  do  all  your  vows  and  oaths  amount  to?" 


Oaklawn.  45 

"Your  pardon,  my  dear  Jicks.  I  do  not  think  I  put 
it  in  just  that  manner.  However,  I  am  aware  of  hav- 
ing repeatedly  said  I  would  never  place  a  lady  of  the 
house  here  over  your  worthy  self.  Is  not  that  it? 
Think  a  moment  now !" 

"What  does  that  mean  but  a  promise  not  to  marry 
any  one?" 

"Indeed,  I  look  at  it  in  an  altogether  different  light. 
I  am  not  putting  Mrs.  Westlake  over  you  in  any 
sen^se  of  the  word.  You  are  still  mistress  here  as 
you  always  have  been.  No  one  shall  in  any  way  in- 
terfere with  you  or  your  authority." 

"What  did  you  marry  her  for?" 

"What  a  question !  Really,  my  dear  Jicks,  you 
amuse  me.  What  does  any  man  marry  for?" 

"I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  believe  you  married  her 
for  love ;  nor  am  I  such  a  fool  as  not  to  believe  you 
had  a  motive  for  it." 

"Right,  my  dear  Jicks ;  quite  right.  I  had  a  motive, 
several  of  them,  in  fact.  The  first  is  to  pay  off  an 
old  score  between  my  father  and  her  great-grand- 
father. The  second  is  to  have  ready  a  means  of 
disappointing  my  dear  sister  and  her  precious  chil- 
dren in  their  hopes  of  spending  my  money  after  my 
death.  The  third  is  to  gratify  that  love  of  power  over 
others  which  is  so  natural  an  instinct  in  all  creation, 
whether  beast  or  bird ;  whether  the  dumb  four-footed 
brute  or  his  two-legged  brother." 

"In  the  meantime,  I  suppose  I  am  to  be  kept  in  the 
background — merely  the  housekeeper.  I  want  you  to 
understand,  Harmon,  you  cannot  play  fast  and  loose 


46  The  Dark  Strain. 

with  me.  Too  much  has  passed  between  us  for  that. 
If  I  find  you  turning  against  me  one  iota,  I  will  put 
you  behind  the  bars." 

"Gently,  gently,  Isabella;  you  forget  that  the  same 
key  which  would  deprive  me  of  my  liberty  for  life 
would  without  doubt  catch  your  fingers,  too.  You  are 
as  deep  in  the  mud  as  I  am  in  the  mire,  to  use  a  homely 
expression.  I  have  no  intention  of  letting  Mrs.  West- 
lake  step  in  between  us.  I  shall  be  true  to  you,  never 
fear.  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  had  an  old  score  to  pay 
off  against  her?  Come  closer  where  I  can  whisper  it, 
and  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is." 

The  woman  sullenly  obeyed.  Her  face  relaxed,  and 
her  black  eyes  glistened  as  she  listened.  A  satisfied 
smile  played  over  her  features  as  he  continued: 

"There!  Is  there  much  danger  of  her  coming  be- 
tween us?  I  tell  you  I  chose  her  from  among  all 
others,  simply  because  I  wanted  to  humiliate  my  worthy 
sister  as  much  as  possible.  Gad!  I  can  just  imagine 
her  boundless  wrath  when  she  discovers  whom  I  have 
placed  over  her.  In  the  meantime  I  do  not  want  them 
to  know  I  am  married.  That  is  why  I  came  home  in 
this  private  way.  I  selected  the  date  for  the  marriage 
with  the  view  of  returning  here  while  nearly  every  one 
is  still  away,  lest  some  busybody  should  peddle  the 
news  before  I  was  ready  to  introduce  my  wife  to  her 
myself.  We  will  remain  very  quietly  at  home  until 
everything  is  in  readiness  for  the  winter  season.  Then 
Mrs.  Westlake  and  I  will  take  up  our  quarters  in  Phila- 
delphia, and  the  great  denouement  will  occur.  If 
Frank  comes  down  here  before  that  time  we  will  give 


Oaklawn.  47 

him  to  understand  that  Aphra  is  my  ward.     I  shall 
trust  to  you  to  see  that  he  does  not  learn  the  truth." 
"You  had  better  keep  her  out  of  sight,  then." 
"So  we  will,  if  I  learn  of  his  coming  beforehand. 
His  allowance  will  be  due  in  October,  and,  of  course, 
as  usual,  Lucia  will  send  him  down  here  on  a  duti- 
ful visit." 

"Shall  you  disinherit  him  altogether?" 
"To  be  sure,  I  shall.  I  have  allowed  him  to  grow 
up  a  gentleman,  now  I  am  going  to  throw  him  upon 
th£~world  to  sink  or  swim,  as  best  he  can.  Lucia  has 
always  held  her  head  so  very  high  and  has  taken  me 
to  task  so  often  about  what  she  chooses  to  call  my  dis- 
solute habits,  in  entertaining  my  gentleman  friends, 
and  even  about  my  affection  for  you,  I  have  planned 
this  rich  way  of  getting  even  with  her.  She  is  so 
sure  of  getting  my  money  and  so  proud  of  her  family 
honor.  She  thinks  I  have  disgraced  her  irretrievably 
already.  What  will  she  think  when  she  knows  all  my 
wealth  will  go  to  you  and  a — Gad !  What  a  blow  I  will 
deal  her.  Then  we  will  be  even  with  her,  won't  we, 
Jicks?  I  have  planned  to  have  some  rare  old  cronies 
here  in  September.  We  must  have  everything  done  up 
in  fine  shape.  I  want  them  to  have  a  royally  good  time. 
Col.  Murdock  and  his  gallant  step-son,  and  Major  Tot- 
ten,  anyway.  I  don't  know  as  there  will  be  any  more. 
Aphra  shall  play  and  sing  for  the  mevenings,  and  all 
day  we  shall  ride  and  hunt." 

"What  if  Mrs.  Westlake,  like  Mrs.  Greydon,  ob- 
jects to  your  friends?"  asked  Mrs.  Jicks,  sarcastically. 


48  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Ah,  yes,  perhaps  she  may.  But  you  see  she  is  my 
wife,  I  can  command  her." 

"I  don't  like  the  looks  of  that  wench.  She  looks  as 
though  she  could  fight  her  own  battles  and  her  mis- 
tress' battles,  too." 

"If  she  gives  us  any  trouble  we  can  readily  dispose 
of  her.  Just  put  her  on  a  Northern  bound  express  and 
send  her  back  to  New  York  City.  I  only  allowed  her 
to  come  so  as  not  to  arouse  any  ill  feeling." 

Apparently  satisfied  with  her  investigation,  Mrs. 
Jicks  retired  to  her  room,  and  ere  long  her  worthy 
master  followed  her  example,  stopping  a  moment  at 
the  door  of  his  young  wife's  room.  Then  smiling  com- 
placently, he  entered  his  own  chamber  and  retired  to 
sleep  the  sleep  of  the  innocent  and  just. 

Quiet  settled  down  over  the  old  house  within  whose 
ivy  mantled  walls  one  secret  lay  buried,  while  another, 
a  tragedy,  was  slowly  developing,  that  would  bring 
desolation  to  more  than  one  beneath  its  roof. 


Deepening  Shadows.  49 


CHAPTER  VI. 


DEEPENING    SHADOWS. 


next  morning  broke  clear  and  beautiful.  Sarah 
arrayed  her  young  mistress  with  great  care  in  one  of 
the  most  bewitching  morning  gowns  —  pale  lilac  silk, 
lace  and  ribbons.  Aphra  slowly  descended  to  the  din- 
ing-room. Finding  her  husband  had  not  yet  put  in 
his  appearance,  she  amused  herself  by  examining  her 
surroundings.  The  wide  windows  opened  out  upon 
a  most  inviting  part  of  the  grounds,  and  she  stood 
watching  the  birds  hopping  about  the  bushes  hunting 
for  seeds  from  some  ripened  pods. 

The  table  was  laid  for  three.  Presently  Mrs.  Jicks 
came  sweeping  in,  arrayed  in  a  rather  elaborate  gown 
of  black  organdie,  trimmed  with  white.  To  Aphra 
it  seemed  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the  position 
of  housekeeper.  Mr.  Westlake  entered  the  room  by 
another  door,  at  the  same  time.  Greetings  were  ex- 
changed, and  the  three  sat  down  to  breakfast. 

"Mrs.  Jicks  will  continue  to  keep  her  place  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  Aphra.  She  has  always  held  that 
position,  and  may  as  well  retain  it.  It  will  save  you  the 
trouble." 


50  The  Dark  Strain. 

Aphra's  face  flushed,  and  she  bit  her  lips  in  silence, 
making  no  reply  save  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head. 
It  appeared  to  her  very  like  an  attempt  to  usurp  her 
rights,  and  place  her  in  an  inferior  position.  She  dis- 
missed the  thought,  however,  as  one  unworthy,  think- 
ing she  might  be  too  ready  to  misjudge. 

"Mrs.  Jicks  will  show  you  about  the  house  after 
breakfast.  You  will  enjoy  it,  I  know,  after  your  lim- 
ited quarters  in  New  York.  The  grounds  are  very 
pretty,  too,  or  I  might  say,  rather  artistic  than  pretty. 
You  will  find  many  cozy  nooks  all  about." 

"I  shall  enjoy  seeing  the  place,  very  much  indeed. 
I  have  already  had  some  charming  glimpses  of  the 
grounds,"  replied  Aphra,  endeavoring  to  be  cheerful. } 

The  conversation  drifted  upon  neighbors  and  local 
matters  of  which  Aphra  was  entirely  ignorant.  She 
found  herself  completely  shut  out,  while  Mrs.  Jicks 
and  her  husband  talked  on,  apparently  oblivious  of 
her  presence,  in  a  very  pleasant  and  gossipy  way,  dis- 
cussing freely.  Aphra  felt  slightly  chagrined.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  though  Mrs.  Jicks  did  her  best  to 
make  her  feel  her  neglect. 

When  they  arose  from  the  table,  Mrs.  Jicks  ex- 
pressed her  readiness  to  accompany  Aphra  through  the 
house.  The  library  was  first  visited.  No  hint  of  the 
conversation  of  the  previous  evening  was  given  to  the 
young  wife  by  the  grim,  solid  furniture.  Over  the 
mantelpiece  hung  an  oil  painting  of  a  beautiful  young 
girl.  Great  masses  of  chestnut  hair  were  gathered 
back  from  the  broad,  low  brow,  and  the  deep  violet 
eyes  seemed  alive  with  love  and  mirth.  Aphra  gazed 


Deepening  Shadows.  51 

at  the  lovely,  spirited  face,  and  cried :  "What  a  lovely 
girl!  Who  is  she?" 

"She  was  a  niece  of  Mr.  Westlake." 

"Is   she   dead,   then?"   asked  Aphra,  pityingly. 

Mrs.  Jicks  glanced  at  the  questioner  from  out  the 
corner  of  her  black  eyes  as  she  replied :  "Yes,  she  has 
been  dead  for  fifteen  years." 

"What  was  her  name?" 

"Estella  Westlake." 

"A  daughter  of  Mr.  Westlake's  brother,  then?" 

,*¥es.  Her  parents  are  both  dead.  She  was  a 
ward  of  Har — Mr.  Westlake." 

Aphra  flushed  as  she  noticed  how  readily  her  hus- 
band's given  name  tripped  out  on  Mrs.  Jicks'  tongue. 

She  was  shown  the  portrait  of  Mr.  Westlake's  sis- 
ter and  her  children.  They  were  four  in  all ;  Mrs. 
Greydon  and  her  eldest  daughter  looking  very  much 
alike,  sedate  and  very  haughty,  while  the  younger 
daughter  and  son  were  of  an  altogether  different  type, 
having  frank,  merry  faces  and  laughing  blue  eyes. 

"It  hardly  seems  possible  they  are  all  of  one  family," 
Aphra  replied. 

"They  have  very  different  dispositions.  Mrs.  Grey- 
don is  very  proud,  and  her  daughter,  Thurza,  is  very 
much  like  her.  Grace  and  Frank  resemble  their 
father." 

Leaving  the  library,  Mrs.  Jicks  led  the  way  through 
one  after  another  of  the  living  rooms,  all  large,  dark 
and  shadowy.  By  and  by  they  came  to  the  old  man- 
sion. Aphra's  spirits  rose  despite  the  evidences  of  de- 
cay on  every  hand.  The  walls  were  yet  lined  with 


52  The  Dark  Strain. 

faded  tapestry,  once  rich  in  color  and  texture.  Ancient 
paintings  of  English  lords  and  ladies  still  looked 
down  from  their  cracked  and  tarnished  frames.  Suits 
of  rusty  armor  hung  like  ghosts  of  ancient  warriors, 
suspended  by  their  necks.  A  few  articles  of  exquisitely 
carved  furniture  still  adorned  some  of  the  rooms,  while 
some  were  bare,  alike  of  hangings  and  furniture. 

Mrs.  Jicks  related  many  strange  anecdotes  and  in- 
cidents of  both  rooms  and  pictures.  Indeed,  every- 
thing about  seemed  to  have  its  own  particular  history. 
Joseph  Bonaparte  had  once  slept  in  this  room ;  Wash- 
ington had  dined  in  that.  This  old  landscape  had  been 
painted  by  an  English  duchess;  that  tapestry  worked 
by  a  French  countess,  and  so  on  and  so  on.  Having 
once  become  warmed  up  and  thawed  out,  the  good 
Mrs.  Jicks  seemed  in  imminent  danger  of  wagging  her 
tongue  off.  Aphra  enjoyed  the  tales  immensely  and 
listened  with  a  charming  interest  that  well  might  be- 
guile a  more  reticent  talker  than  Mrs.  Jicks  into  un- 
folding all  those  ancient  stories. 

Aphra  had  noticed  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  last 
room,  which  Mrs.  Jicks  had  paid  no  heed  to. 

"Where  does  that  door  lead  to?"  she  asked. 

"It  used  to  serve  as  an  entrance  to  the  tower,  which 
is  now  in  ruins.  It  is  never  used  now.  You  can  see 
the  tower  from  the  outside,"  quickly  replied  Mrs.  Jicks. 

Aphra  eyed  the  door  solemnly.  Surely  there  were 
finger  marks  upon  the  surface  and  footprints  leading 
up  to  it  were  plainly  discernible  in  the  dust  on  the 
floor.  Could  those  traces  have  remained  there  through 
all  these  years? 


Deepening  Shadows.  53 

"Well,  it  must  be  nearly  time  for  us  to  return.  I 
will  be  needed  to  look  after  the  dinner.  Liza  is  a 
good  cook,  but  not  always  to  be  depended  upon.  Nig- 
gers can  never  be  trusted.  The  best  of  them  will 
take  advantage  of  one's  back  being  turned." 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  have  always  found  Sarah  so 
devoted  and  faithful,  I  imagined  they  all  were." 

"She  may  seem  so  to  you,  nevertheless  she  is  like  all 
the  rest  behind  your  back,  I  reckon." 

Mrs.  Jicks  returned  to  her  duties,  and  Aphra  strolled 
out»,through  the  grounds,  spending  the  remainder  of 
the  morning  wandering  about  the  place.  She  visited 
the  ruined  tower  and  gazed  with  deep  interest  on  its 
oaken  beams  and  crumbling  walls. 

"What  a  pity  one  cannot  reach  those  two  upper 
floors.  I  should  so  love  to  see  the  inside  of  them.  The 
view  from  that  upper  story  must  be  grand." 

On  her  return  to  her  room,  Aphra  found  Sarah  tear- 
ing around  in  a  great  rage,  her  sloe-black  eyes  flashing 
dangerously. 

"Why,  Sarah,  what  is  the  trouble?" 

"That  old  Jicks  went  foah  me  because  I  slept  in 
heah  last  night.  She  says  no  suhvants  allowed  in  this 
paht  of  the  house,  an'  I  must  take  the  room  she  had 
fixed  up  foah  me,"  snapped  Sarah,  in  great  indigna- 
tion. 

"Well,  Sarah,  never  mind.  She  has  only  had  these 
real  ignorant  colored  people  to  deal  with." 

"She'll  find  she  can't  boss  me.  I  don't  take  my 
odahs  from  huh,"  declared  Sarah,  slapping  down  the 
comb  and  brush. 


54  The  Dark  Strain. 

"What  business  is  it  of  huhs  whuh  I  sleep,  I  want 
to  know !  Don't  I  know  my  place  ?" 

"There,  there,  Sarah.  Don't  mind  it.  I  am  sure  it 
will  be  all  right  when  I  speak  to  Mr.  Westlake  about 
it,"  persuaded  Aphra,  coaxingly. 

After  dinner  she  followed  her  husband  out  on  the 
veranda  and  broached  the  subject. 

"I  was  just  about  to  speak  to  you  on  the  very  same 
matter.  Sarah  must  take  her  room  in  the  servants' 
hall.  We  never  allow  servants  to  sleep  in  the  other 
part  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Jicks  was  quite  right 
about  it." 

"But,  Mr.  Westlake,  I  wish  Sarah  to  stay  near  me. 
I  have  never  had  her  further  away  than  an  adjoining 
room  since  my  birth." 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  interfere  with  so  pleasant  an 
arrangement,  Mrs.  Westlake,"  he  replied,  with  a  broad 
smile,  "but  we  have  certain  established  rules  here  that 
are  never  broken.  Therefore  I  must  insist  on  Sarah's 
compliance." 

A  sharp  retort  sprang  to  Aphra's  lips,  but  she 
checked  the  utterance,  and  with  downcast  eyes  left 
him.  It  would  be  worse  than  useless,  she  knew,  to 
struggle  against  his  decree.  She  would  only  make  an 
enemy  of  him  and  Mrs.  Jicks  as  well.  No,  the  easiest 
way  was  certainly  the  best  way  in  this  case.  She  had 
married  him  and  must  take  matters  as  she  found  them. 
Whether  or  no  she  could  bring  Sarah  to  the  same  con- 
clusion was  another  matter. 

Very  soon  Sarah  returned  from  the  servants'  table. 
She  was  still  burning  with  rage  at  what  she  termed  the 


Deepening  Shadows.  55 

insult.  Aphra  forebore  speaking  to  her  on  the  subject 
until  after  supper,  when  in  as  quiet  a  voice  as  she  could 
command,  she  said: 

"Sarah,  on  the  whole,  I  think  it  better  for  you  to 
have  your  own  room.  You  can  go  to  it  to-night." 

"Now,  see  heah,  Miss  Aphra,  I'm  not  goin'  thah  to 
sleep  an'  leave  you  alone  with  that  ogre  an'  that  devil 
catchuh !"  flatly  declared  the  irate  darky,  every  whit 
of  her  stubborn  nature  thoroughly  aroused. 

"Indeed,  Sarah,  you  must.  I  shall  not  be  afraid." 
Y»et  she  shivered  as  she  said  it.  "I  had  much  rather 
you  did  go." 

"Did  you  ask  that  ogre?" 

"Yes,"  faltered  Aphra,  "and  he  refused  to  let  you 
stay." 

"Then  I'll  stay  anyway.  I'll  just  let  them  know  I'm 
not  afraid  of  them  if  you  are." 

"Oh,  Sarah,  please  don't.  You  will  only  make  them 
angry  and  make  it  worse  for  both  of  us.  Please  go 
for  my  sake.  We  are  here  all  alone  in  their  power. 
What  can  we  gain  by  making  enemies  of  them?  You 
will  only  get  me  in  trouble.  Please  go,"  begged  Aphra, 
tearfully. 

Sarah  did  not  reply.  She  banged  around  in  ominous 
silence,  but  when  Aggie  rapped  at  the  door  again,  she 
sullenly  bid  her  mistress  good-night  and  followed  her 
guide.  Aphra  locked  the  door  and  crept  tremblingly 
into  bed.  Drawing  the  coverings  well  up  over  her 
head,  she  tried  to  get  to  sleep.  Fully  an  hour  must/ 
have  passed  away,  and  she  was  still  awake,  when  she 
heard  her  name  spoken  in  a  hoarse  whisper  through 


56  The  Dark  Strain. 

the  keyhole.  Arising  in  trepidation,  she  asked  who 
it  was. 

"It's  me,  Miss  Aphra;  let  me  in." 

Gently  unfastening  the  door,  she  opened  it,  and 
Sarah,  arrayed  in  her  night  dress  and  with  a  great, 
flopping  night  cap  on  her  woolly  head,  crept  noise- 
lessly in. 

"I  waited  until  they  all  got  into  bed  an'  asleep,  an' 
then  I  came  back  to  sleep  with  you.  I'm  not  goin'  to 
let  them  boss  me  out." 

Aphra  was  secretly  rejoiced,  still  she  feared  trouble 
ahead. 

"They  will  surely  find  it  out,  Sarah." 

"No,  they  won't.  I  mussed  the  bed  up  an'  locked 
the  doah.  Heah  is  the  key.  I'll  go  back  befoah  they 
get  up  in  the  mawnin'.  Now  you  just  pop  back  into 
bed  and  go  to  sleep." 

Gladly  Aphra  obeyed,  and  was  wrapped  in  sweet  un- 
consciousness inside  of  ten  minutes.  Sarah  lay  awake 
a  long  time,  chuckling  to  herself  in  her  joy  at  out- 
witting her  persecutors,  inwardly  resolving  to  play 
the  joke  every  night  from  that  time  on.  However,  she 
reckoned  without  her  host. 

So  elated  was  she  at  the  success  of  her  scheme,  she 
grew  quite  familiar,  even  jolly,  with  the  house  serv- 
ants the  following  day.  She  remained  in  the  kitchen 
the  greater  part  of  her  leisure  time,  laughing,  swapping 
stories  with  the  fat  cook,  tickling  the  kinky-headed 
kitchen  maid  and  running  the  other  two  about  their 
beaux.  In  the  evening  she  reached  the  climax  of  her 
glee  by  whistling  a  lively  tune,  keeping  time  with  her 


Deepening  Shadows.  57 

hands,  while  Aggie  and  Susan  spun  around  the  floor 
in  a  giddy  breakdown. 

Sarah  attended  her  mistress  as  usual,  then  went  to 
her  own  room  to  wait  until  the  rest  had  retired.  She 
laughed  to  herself  as  she  thought  again  of  getting 
ahead  of  the  watchful  Jicks.  By  and  by  all  was  silent, 
and  she  concluded  she  might  safely  venture  forth. 
Softly  she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door.  It  was  fast. 
She  was  locked  in !  Vigorous  twists  and  pulls  did  no 
good.  There  she  was  a  prisoner.  Her  blood  began  to 
boif"and  she  pounded  on  the  door  with  all  her  might 
and  main,  yelling  vociferously.  Out  rushed  the  four 
negresses  in  their  night  gowns  and  caps,  terrified  at 
the  horrible  din. 

"What's  de  mattuh?"  called  Liza. 

"Let  me  out !    Let  me  out !"  screamed  Sarah. 

"She's  sot  huhse'f  on  fiah,"  ventured  Susan. 

"Somebody's  killin'  huh,"  shivered  the  little  kitchen 
maid,  with  protruding  eyeballs. 

"You  just  wait  till  I  get  hold  of  the  one  that  locked 
me  in  heah,"  giving  the  door  a  prodigious  kick. 

"Who  dun  lock  you  in?"  queried  the  quartette  in  a 
breath. 

"That  devil  catchuh,"  with  another  kick. 

"Who  dat  you  mean?"  asked  Liza. 

"She'll  know  who  I  mean  when  I  get  out  of  heah. 
I'll  show  huh  who  I  mean,"  yelled  the  infuriated  Sarah, 
pounding  on  the  panels  with  clinched  fists. 

"She  mus'  mean  Mis'  Jicks.  What  you  s'pose  she 
dun  lock  huh  in  foah?"  remarked  Liza,  turning  to 
Aggie  and  Susan. 


58  The  Dark  Strain. 

"  'Coz  she  wanted  huh  to  stay  dah,  I  'spec,"  retorted 
Aggie. 

"Get  me  a  key,  or  a  pokah,  or  a  can  of  coal  oil,  or  a 
stick  of  dynamite,  or  something  so  I  kan  get  out  of 
heah,"  and  Sarah  renewed  her  attack  of  kicks  and 
poundings. 

The  servants'  hall  being  located  at  one  end  of  the 
house,  distant  from  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  family, 
no  one  save  the  servants  heard  the  racket,  or  at  least 
gave  heed  to  it.  After  pounding  her  hands  sore  and 
screaming  herself  hoarse  Sarah  was  obliged  to  desist, 
especially  since  her  audience,  after  giving  her  sundry 
admonitions  to  be  quiet  and  go  on  to  bed,  had  pro- 
ceeded to  put  the  advice  into  practice  themselves,  and 
left  her  alone. 

Aphra  listened  in  vain  for  Sarah's  coming,  wonder- 
ing what  could  have  hindered  her.  She  lay  on  her  bed 
waiting  anxiously  for  hours,  but  no  sound  of  stealthy 
footsteps  or  hoarse  whisper  greeted  her  ear.  At  last, 
tired  and  worn  out  with  waiting,  she  fell  asleep. 


A  Bitter  Battle.  59 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    BITTER    BATTLE. 

"MR.  WESTLAKE,  you  will  either  have  to  lock  that 
weflth  up  or  send  her  away !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jicks  the 
next  morning. 

"Indeed?  How  so?  Has  she  proved  too  much  for 
you,  my  dear  Jicks  ?"  inquired  her  master,  banteringly. 

"I  locked  her  in  her  room  last  night  to  make  sure 
of  her  staying  there,  and  she  raised  an  awful  row. 
Kicked,  pounded  and  yelled  with  all  her  might.  Every 
panel  in  the  door  is  split  and  her  room  is  literally 
turned  inside  out.  I  am  not  going  to  put  up  with  such 
actions  as  that,  you  may  be  sure." 

"Certainly  not.  I  will  speak  to  her  about  it.  She 
must  either  conform  to  your  wishes  or  leave  here.  If 
I  am  obliged  to  send  her  away,  could  you  spare  Aggie 
for  Mrs.  Westlake?" 

"She  could  take  care  of  her  room  and  look  after  her 
wadrobe,  but  I  don't  see  any  need  of  Mrs.  Westlake's 
requiring  the  services  of  a  maid  to  dress  her  and  comb 
her  hair.  She  is  old  enough  to  do  that  for  herself." 

"Very  well,  my  dear  Jicks,  rest  assured  I  will  ar- 
range everything  as  you  wish." 

Sarah  kept  her  eye  upon  the  door  from  daylight. 


60  The  Dark  Strain. 

She  determined  the  very  instant  the  key  turned  to 
make  a  bold  rush  at  it  and  catch  her  jailor  in  the  very 
act.  Time  rolled  by  and  no  sound  was  heard.  Her 
mistress  must  be  awake  by  this  time  and  would  need 
her.  Gently  she  turned  the  knob.  To  her  amazement 
the  door  opened  very  readily.  This  only  angered  her 
more,  and,  slamming  it  in  sullen  defiance,  she  went  to 
her  mistress'  room. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Sarah?"  cried  Aphra,  in  dis- 
may, as  she  looked  into  Sarah's  blood-shot  eyes. 

"Mattuh  enough !  That  devil  catchuh  locked  me  in 
my  room  last  night." 

"Oh,  Sarah !  Whatever  will  we  do !  Now  we  are 
in  trouble.  I  was  afraid  of  it." 

"Just  let  huh  open  huh  mouth  to  me,  I  choke  huh 
till  she's  blackuh  in  the  face  than  that  old  cook.  I'll 
knock  huh  brains  out  an'  spit  in  huh  face." 

"Don't,  Sarah.  Please  don't  talk  like  that !"  pleaded 
Aphra,  in  distress.  "For  my  sake  don't  let  on  you 
know  anything  about  it.  We  can't  be  too  careful  how 
we  act.  I  am  afraid  of  them,  Sarah;  they  both  look 
so  awfully  at  me,"  shivering  with  fear. 

With  trembling  limbs  and  palpitating  heart,  Aphra 
entered  the  breakfast-room.  In  fear  she  met  her  hus- 
band's eye  and  glanced  at  Mrs.  Jicks.  Mr.  Westlake 
was,  if  possible,  more  bland  and  smiling  than  usual, 
but  even  in  her  short  acquaintance  with  him,  Aphra 
had  learned  to  dread  that  affable  manner.  A  dark 
frown  drew  Mrs.  Jicks'  black  eyebrows  together.  Well 
the  trembling  girl  knew  what  these  ominous  signs 
portended.  She  could  not  eat  a  mouthful  in  spite  of 


A  Bitter  Battle.  61 

her  brave  efforts  to  swallow  something.  The  food 
seemed  to  choke  her. 

Breakfast  over,  Mr.  Westlake  requested  her  pres- 
ence in  the  library.  With  a  sinking  heart  she  followed 
him. 

"Mrs.  Westlake,  can  you  recall  to  mind  the  con- 
versation we  had  in  regard  to  your  maid  occupying 
the  room  set  apart  for  her  use  by  Mrs.  Jicks,  or  have 
you  forgotten  ?"  he  pleasantly  inquired. 

"I  remember  it  very  well,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

/"You  understood,  then,  and  have  not  forgotten  what 
I  said?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  am  I  to  think  you  have  deliberately  gone 
against  my  expressed  wishes  in  allowing  your  maid 
to  pass  the  night  in  your  room  ?" 

"It  was  not  my  fault,  Mr.  Westlake,"  replied  Aphra, 
with  quiet  dignity.  "As  you  know,  Sarah  has  at- 
tended me  since  my  birth.  I  have  been  much  more 
in  the  habit  of  obeying  her  than  she  has  of  obeying 
me.  I  told  her  of  the  conversation  and  asked  her  to 
take  her  own  room.  She  came  back  to  me  after  the 
others  had  retired.  I  knew  nothing  of  it  until  she 
asked  to  be  admitted  to  my  room." 

"Were  you  compelled  to  comply?  Could  you  not 
have  sent  her  back?" 

His  sarcastic  tone  touched  Aphra  to  the  quick. 
Tears  filled  her  eyes,  but  she  would  not  let  them  fall. 
Resolutely  she  forced  them  back. 

"I  was  at  heart  glad  she  came,  for  I  was  timid  about 
sleeping  alone  in  a  strange  room." 


62  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Then  you  concurred  in  her  returning  last  night, 
I  presume,  or  am  I  wrong?" 

She  bent  her  head  without  replying. 

"I  see  you  are  disposed  to  set  my  wishes  at  naught, 
and  do  as  you  please."  eyeing  the  downcast  face.  "Al- 
low me  to  say,  here  and  now,  I  am  never  disobeyed 
If  others  do  not  comply  with  my  wishes,  they  are 
forced  to  obey  my  commands.  You  are  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  You  will  either  compel  your  maid  to  obey 
all  orders  given  her  either  by  Mrs.  Jicks  or  me,  or  she 
will  be  returned  to  New  York  immediately." 

"May  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Westlake,"  began  his  wife, 
proudly  raising  her  head  and  looking  him  steadily  in 
the  eye,  "what  difference  it  makes  to  either  you  or 
Mrs.  Jicks  where  Sarah  sleeps?  Why  should  I  be  de- 
prived of  her  love  and  companionship?  In  what  way 
have  I  displeased  you  that  I  should  lose  the  only  friend 
I  have?  Why  am  I  treated  as  an  unruly  child  or 
placed  in  a  position  subordinate  to  that  of  your  house- 
keeper? Why  have  not  my  lawful  rights  been  given 
me?" 

He  looked  intently  at  the  lovely  flushed  face  and 
flashing  eyes.  The  sight  seemed  to  please  him  im- 
mensely. 

"Why?  My  dear  Aphra,  why?  Because  a  husband 
loves  to  exact  obedience  from  an  unloving  wife.  That 
is  why,"  and  without  further  argument  he  left  her. 

Mrs.  Jicks  had  proceeded  to  the  kitchen  immediately 
after  her  breakfast  for  the  purpose  of  attacking  Sarah 
when  she  should  appear.  She  had  not  long  to  wait 
before  the  irate  object  of  her  enmity  appeared,  sailing 


A  Bitter  Battle.  63 

into  the  kitchen  with  an  independent  toss  of  her  head 
and  switch  of  her  skirts. 

"Sarah,  I  wish  to  ask  what  you  meant  by  making 
such  an  unearthly  racket  last  night?"  asked  Mrs. 
Jicks,  fixing  her  piercing  black  eyes  upon  Sarah's 
dusky  face. 

"A  tigah  always  does  yelp  when  he's  locked  up," 
was  the  ambiguous  reply. 

"When  tigers  go  prowling  about  the  house  after 
people  are  in  bed,  they  deserve  to  be  locked  up.  Mind 
what  I  say.  Don't  you  dare  to  repeat  that  fracas. 
or  you  will  be  locked  up  in  a  dungeon  with  snakes  and 
rats,  and  kept  on  bread  and  water  for  a  week,"  ex- 
claimed the  housekeeper,  imperiously.  "Do  you 
hear?" 

Sarah  turned  full  upon  her  assailant  and  glared  like 
an  angry  bull,  then  swept  out  of  the  kitchen  without 
having  tasted  her  breakfast.  Up  to  her  room  she 
stormed,  and  locking  herself  in,  vented  her  spite  by 
throwing  every  movable  article  about  the  room,  all 
the  time  sending  forth  fierce  ejaculations  against  the 
housekeeper,  as  though  she  were  really  assailing  that 
worthy  herself.  She  did  not  emerge  from  the  room  un- 
til near  dinner  time.  Then  carefully  locking  the  door 
behind  her,  she  went  to  prepare  her  mistress  for  din- 
ner. 

Aphra  tearfully  begged  her  to  give  in,  telling  her  if 
she  persisted  in  her  disobedience  she  would  be  sent 
back  tp  New  York.  In  all  her  life  Sarah  had  never 
been  forced  to  obey.  Having  been  reared  in  this  one 
family  she  had  been  allowed  her  own  way  to  a  great 


64  The  Dark  Strain. 

extent,  as  family  servants  generally  are.  She  had 
grown  to  think  herself  superior  to  the  general  run  of 
servants,  and  this  treatment  galled  her  to  the  core  of 
her  black  heart,  rousing  her  whole  nature  to  a  degree 
of  antagonism  that  frightened  the  gentle  Aphra. 

She  remained  locked  in  her  room,  night  and  day, 
for  three  days,  only  emerging  from  her  self-imprison- 
ment to  attend  her  mistress.  Not  once  did  she  enter 
the  kitchen  to  partake  of  any  food,  to  the  knowledge 
of  any  of  the  other  servants.  Neither  Mr.  Westlake 
nor  Mrs.  Jicks  ever  caught  sight  of  her  in  that  time. 
The  bewildered  servants  carried  trays  of  food  to  her 
door,  and  besought  her  to  eat  something,  and  make 
up  her  mind  to  act  reasonably. 

Never  one  word  of  reply  was  vouchsafed,  and  the 
trays  of  food  remained  there  untasted,  until  they  were 
carried  away.  During  these  three  days  poor  Aphra's 
heart  was  filled  with  dread.  Mrs.  Jicks'  black-browed, 
ominous  silence,  and  her  husband's  smiling  deference 
turned  her  sick  with  fear.  Some  terrible  thing  was 
about  to  happen,  she  felt  sure.  Sarah  would  surely 
be  terribly  punished,  for  her  obstinacy,  or  else  sent 
back  to  New  York.  How  Aphra  longed  to  feel  free  to 
pack  her  trunks  and  go  too.  If  it  were  not  for  that 
mysterious  secret,  nothing  could  tempt  her  to  remain. 
Day  by  day  she  had  felt  more  and  more  the  unpleas- 
antness of  her  position  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Jicks  took 
no  pains  to  disguise  the  fact  of  her  looking  on  Aphra 
as  an  interloper,  while  Mr.  Westlake  used  her  much 
as  a  spoiled  child.  Only  love  for  her  mother  kept  her 
there. 


A  Bitter  Battle.  65 

Mrs.  Jicks  held  several  conversations  with  Mr.  West- 
lake.  On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  the  coach- 
man drove  up  to  the  door  with  the  old  family  barouche. 
Just  after  Sarah  entered  her  mistress'  room,  Mr. 
Westlake  deliberately  opened  the  door  and  addressed 
his  wife,  who  stood  before  the  toilet  stand  in  her  night 
dress,  looking  at  him,  too  surprised  to  move. 

"Excuse  my  interruption,  Mrs.  Westlake,  but  in  view 
of  your  maid's  continued  obstinacy,  I  have  decided  to 
send  her  back  to  New  York  this  morning." 

^Dh,  Mr.  Westlake,  I  beg  of  you,  don't  do  that!" 
cried  Aphra,  her  eyes  widening  with  terror.  "Don't 
send  her  away  from  me.  She  will  do  all  you  wish.  I 
will  answer  for  her." 

"Indeed,  it  is  too  late  for  that  now,  Mrs.  Westlake. 
I  am  very,  very  sorry.  If  you  could  only  have  given 
your  guarantee  a  little  sooner,"  he  replied,  sarcas- 
tically. "As  it  is,  I  have  written  your  mother  to  ex- 
pect her.  I  consider  Sarah  had  a  fair  warning,  also 
a  three  days'  trial.  I  have  been  very  lenient,  indeed. 
Almost  too  much  so,  I  fear.  I  can  do  no  more.  Will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  her  to  put  on  her  hat?  The 
carriage  is  waiting.  Her  trunk  will  be  sent  after  her." 

Pale  as  death,  Aphra  sank  on  her  knees  before  her 
husband,  and  raising  her  bare  white  arms  in  entreaty, 
cried:  "For  God's  sake,  don't  send  her  away!  See,  I 
kneel  to  you.  I  beg  of  you,  let  me  have  this  one  com- 
fort. I  could  not  endure  my  life  here  without  her. 
I  will  do  anything  you  wish,  and  she  will,  too.  Let 
me  keep  her.  Say  she  may  stay." 

The  lustrous  brown  eyes  were  full  of  wild  entreaty. 


66  The  Dark  Strain. 

The  golden  hair  fell  about  her  shoulders,  making  a 
rarely  beauteous  picture.  Surely  such  a  sight  might 
melt  any  man's  heart — aye,  were  it,  indeed,  made  of 
stone.  He  looked  indulgently  down  upon  her,  as  one 
might  a  wilful  child,  yet  not  one  whit  moved  was  he. 

"I  have  given  you  my  answer.  Further  argument 
is  useless.  Be  so  good  as  to  tell  your  maid  to  get 
ready." 

"She  need  tell  me  no  such  a  thing.  I  will  nevah 
leave  huh  while  I  live,"  burst  out  Sarah,  who,  though 
she  had  remained  speechless,  had  been  looking  all 
sorts  of  fearful  things  at  him.  Her  black  eyes  shone 
like  balls  of  fire  to  burn  his  very  soul. 

Aphra  still  knelt  upon  the  floor,  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands. 

"If  she  refuses  to  comply  with  my  request,  she  will 
be  forced  to  obey  my  command,"  he  continued,  com- 
pletely ignoring  Sarah's  vehement  protest,  and  calmly 
addressing  the  motionless  figure  at  his  feet. 

'Well,  I  do  refuse  to  comply  with  youah  request, 
and  I'd  just  like  to  see  you  fahce  youah  command. 
I'll  teah  the  eyes  out  of  anybody  that  just  dahs  to  lay 
one  finger  on  me,"  challenged  Sarah,  belligerently. 

At  a  sign  the  two  maids  quickly  entered  the  room, 
followed  by  Mrs.  Jicks.  Aggie  and  Susan  pinioned 
Sarah's  arms,  while  Mrs.  Jicks,  with  her  own  fair 
hands,  fastened  on  the  struggling  prisoner's  hat.  She 
fought  like  a  tiger,  screaming,  kicking,  biting  and 
scratching  at  every  one  who  came  within  her  reach. 
At  a  whistle  the  coachman  and  stable  boy  came  in,  and 


A  Bitter  Battle.  67 

picking  her  up  bodily,  bore  her  downstairs,  kicking 
and  screaming  as  she  went. 

"You  had  better  tie  her,  Jake.  She'll  be  apt  to  make 
you  trouble.  Put  her  on  the  through  express.  Tell 
the  conductor  she  is  a  little  off  in  the  head,  and  not  to 
let  her  off  until  she  gets  to  New  York,"  cautioned  Mr. 
Westlake,  as  Sarah  was  being  placed  inside  the  ba- 
rouche. 

"All  right,  sah !"  replied  Jake,  and  bringing  forth  a 
stout  rope  he  succeeded  in  binding  the  frantic  Sarah, 
an^securely  fastened  her  in.  Then  mounting  the  box 
he  drove  off  in  high  state  with  the  prisoner  yelling  and 
kicking  with  her  bound-up  feet  with  all  her  might, 
until  the  rig  was  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

Poor  Aphra !  She  gave  one  terrible  cry  as  Sarah 
was  carried  from  the  room,  and  fell  prone  on  the  floor, 
senseless.  Aggie  came  in  presently,  and  gently  bath- 
ing her  face,  restored  her  to  consciousness  of  her  mis- 
ery. 

"Oh,  God,  let  me  die,"  she  sobbed,  piteously.  "I  can- 
not endure  my  life  here.  Let  me  die !  Let  me  die  !'* 

"Come,  missy,  you  mus'n  take  on  lak  dat  now.  You'll 
be  a  heap  bettah  off  widout  huh.  She'd  nebbah  git 
'long  heah.  She's  too  high  an'  mighty." 

"Please  leave  me  alone.  I  cannot  bear  any  one 
now,"  moaned  Aphra. 

Aggie  left  her  to  her  sorrowful  thoughts. 

Poor,  unhappy  girl.  How  she  moaned  and  sobbed 
and  wept  in  the  bitterness  of  her  grief  and  desolation. 
Oh,  for  home;  oh,  for  mother;  oh,  for  her  lost  girl- 
hood !  How  bitterly  hard  it  was,  that  she,  an  innocent 


68  The  Dark  Strain. 

girl,  should  be  made  to  suffer  like  this,  for  something 
she  was  so  utterly  ignorant  of.  Away  from  her  home, 
her  mother,  from  everything  life  held  dear,  sold  body 
and  soul  to  a  hard,  cruel,  selfish  man.  All  to  keep  a 
secret  she  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  the  nature  of. 

Poor,  unhappy  Aphra.  She  thought  she  was  already 
drinking  her  cup  of  misery  to  its  bitter  dregs.  All  day 
she  lay  in  her  room,  refusing  to  see  any  one  and  re- 
fusing all  food,  thinking,  in  her  misery,  she  could 
never  eat  again.  A  bitter  strife  was  raging  in  her  breast 
against  her  husband.  Never,  never  would  she  allow 
him  to  touch  her  hand.  Never  would  she  look  again 
into  his  cruel,  sneering  face,  if  she  could  help  it.  Never, 
never  would  she  forgive  him.  She  had  knelt  to  him 
in  pleading,  and  he  had  scorned  her.  She  hated  him. 
If  he  dared  to  force  her  to  obey  his  commands  she 
would  run  away  and  leave  him.  Never  should  she 
obey  him.  While  one  last  hope  of  keeping  Sarah  with 
her  remained,  she  had  willingly  humbled  herself,  and 
would  have  promised  anything.  Now  that  all  hope 
was  gone  she  would  defy  him.  She  did  not  care  what 
he  did  to  her.  There  was  always  the  one  escape — 
flight. 

All  day  she  waged  her  battle,  and  when  at  last, 
late  in  the  evening,  slumber  came  to  close  her  swollen 
eyelids,  to  steal  softly  over  the  overwrought  brain,  to 
still  the  worn-out,  quivering  nerves  and  lock  the  tired 
body  in  its  restful  embrace,  it  found  an  angry,  re- 
sentful woman,  in  place  of  the  timid  girl  that  had  been. 


A  One-Sided  Affair.  69 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    ONE-SIDED    AFFAIR. 

WITHIN  Mrs.  Birney's  parlor  sits  a  gentleman,  near 
the  same  window  at  which  we  first  saw  Mr.  Westlake, 
looking  at  the  same  panorama  he  looked  at.  This  man, 
however,  is  as  much  that  polished  gentleman's  anti- 
type as  it  would  be  possible  to  find  among  men  of  like 
wealth  and  position.  James  Briscot  is  nearly  ten  years 
younger  that  Mr.  Westlake.  Although  he  is  sadly  lack- 
ing in  that  gentleman's  polish  and  courtesy,  there  is 
something  old-fashioned  and  honest  looking  about  him, 
not  unpleasant  to  contemplate. 

He  is  shorter  and  stouter  than  Mr.  Westlake,  and 
has  a  sort  of  uneasy  manner,  a  trifle  on  the  cat-in-a- 
strange-garret,  or  bull-in-a-china-shop  order.  His 
clothes,  made  of  the  very  best  of  materials,  somehow 
do  not  look  as  though  they  belonged  to  him.  In  short, 
he  is  not  a  gentleman  "to  the  manner  born."  Indeed, 
he  looks  much  more  like  a  genteel  farmer.  This  man 
is  no  other  than  James  Briscot,  the  affianced  husband 
of  Hester  Birney,  who  at  this  moment  entered  the 
room,  looking  quite  as  beautiful  as  was  possible  for 
even  Hester  Birney  to  look. 


70  The  Dark  Strain. 

Mr.  Briscot  arose  in  some  trepidation,  and  with  ad- 
miring eyes  and  genial  smile  held  out  his  hand  to  his 
betrothed.  Mrs.  Birney  very  politely  placed  her  small, 
white,  beringed  hand  in  his  and  smiled  pleasantly. 

"A  beautiful  day,  Mr.  Briscot,  although  rather 
warm." 

"I  scarcely  dared  to  hope  to  find  you  still  in  the  city. 
I  only  returned  last  evening.  My  business  trip  kept  me 
away  longer  than  I  expected." 

"I  should  not  have  been  here,  but  for  my  daughter's 
wedding,  which  took  place  one  week  ago  to-morrow. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  get  away  yet,  so  many  little 
matters  demanded  my  attention.  I  hope  now,  to  leave 
for  the  seashore  early  next  week." 

"I  was  quite  surprised  to  hear  of  your  daughter's 
marriage.  I  had  scarcely  thought  of  her  as  more  than 
a  child,  you  are  so  very  young  looking  yourself." 

Mrs.  Birney  blushed  charmingly. 

"Aphra  is  very  young.  I  had  hoped  to  keep  her  with 
me  for  several  years  yet.  But  it  was  not  to  be,"  with  a 
little  sigh. 

"Then  there  will  be  no  'coming  out'  for  you  to  su- 
perintend, I  suppose,"  remarked  Mr.  Briscot,  toying 
with  his  watch-chain  rather  bashfully. 

"No,  I  am  relieved  of  that,  although  I  am  disap- 
pointed about  it,  too." 

"Then,  Mrs.  Birney,  as  all  obstacles  are  out  of  the 
way,  may  I  look  forward  to  your  naming  an  early  day 
for  me?" 

Mr.  Briscot  colored  up  to  the  very  roots  of  his  grey 
hair,  and  looked  earnestly  out  of  the  window. 


A  One-Sided  Affair.  71 

Mrs.  Birney  made  reply  with  graceful  composure. 

"What  time  would  best  suit  you,  Mr.  Briscot?" 

"Me?"  in  astonishment  at  being  consulted.  "Oh, 
any  time.  It  can't  be  too  soon,"  he  blurted  out. 

"Then  suppose  I  say  the  first  Wednesday  in  Sep- 
tember ?" 

"Very  well,  that  will  do,"  but  his  face  lengthened 
out  as  he  said  it.  "Then  we  will  take  a  steamer  for 
Europe  on  that  day  and  remain  there  for  the  winter,  if 
you  would  like  it." 

'*I^should  be  very  glad  to  do  that,"  pleasantly  as- 
sented Mrs.  Birney.  "You  will  run  out  to  the  seashore 
occasionally,  I  hope.  I  expect  to  remain  not  longer 
than  four  weeks.  That  will  be  all  the  time  I  can 
spare." 

"You  are  very  kind.  I  shall  come  whenever  I  can," 
he  replied,  gratefully. 

Arising,  he  took  her  hand  again,  and  in  a  voice  that 
vibrated  with  deep  feeling,  he  said :  "While  we  are  talk- 
ing on  this  subject,  Hester" — the  name  came  trembling- 
ly to  his  lips — "I  want  to  tell  you  how  I  thank  you  for 
this  promise  you  have  made  me.  I  know  I  am  not 
your  social  equal,  only  so  far  as  my  money  gives  me 
my  position.  I  am  rough  and  uncouth  beside  you. 
You  are  as  beautiful  as  a  queen,  and  well  might  look 
higher  than  me.  I  promise  to  try,  honestly  and  with 
all  my  might,  to  make  your  life  with  me  a  happy  one. 
May  you  never  regret  the  step  you  will  take  on  the 
first  Wednesday  in  September." 

With  a  quick  movement  he  drew  her  within  his  arms 


72  The  Dark  Strain. 

— softly,  for  fear  of  crushing  her  dress  or  disarranging 
her  hair — and  pressed  a  fervent  kiss  upon  the  beautiful 
face.  Then  as  if  astonished  at  his  temerity,  he  sud- 
denly released  her  and  left  the  house. 

Mrs.  Birney  laughed  as  she  saw  him  hurrying  down 
the  street. 

"Poor  fellow !  I  never  thought  he  felt  in  the  least 
sentimental  about  it.  I  hope  most  sincerely  he  does 
not  love  me.  I  never  could  return  it.  It  makes  so 
much  less  trouble  for  married  people  just  to  be  friendly 
and  leave  love  out  of  the  question.  If  he  does  love 
me,  how  wretched  he  will  make  himself,  for,  of  course, 
he  will  make  no  effort  to  disguise  his  feelings.  He  is 
too  lacking  in  tact.  He  certainly  is  no  gentleman,  so 
far  as  the  world's  idea  of  a  gentleman  goes.  He  so 
sadly  needs  culture  and  refinement.  I  wish  it  were 
not  so  apparent.  I  shall  almost  be  ashamed  to  in- 
troduce him  as  my  husband — still  there  are  the  mil 
lions.  I  could  not  get  them  without  taking  him ;  and 
I  had  rather  take  him  than  not  have  the  millions. 
'Of  two  evils  choose  the  least.'  That  is  what  I  am  do- 
ing." 

A  tap  on  the  door  recalled  her  to  every-day  affairs. 
The  maid  entered,  at  her  bidding,  handing  her  a  let- 
ter. 

"From  Mr.  Westlake,"  she  mentally  exclaimed. 
"I  wonder  why  he  writes  instead  of  Aphra.  I  do 
hope  the  child  is  not  ill." 

Her  face  paled  as  she  read  the  contents. 

"What  a  state  of  affairs !  Sarah  should  have  known 
better  than  to  oppose  him.  She  is  so  headstrong,  so 


A  One-Sided  Affair.  73 

self-willed.  I  am  dreadfully  sorry  she  is  coming  back 
here.  I  could  even  dispense  with  her  valuable  serv- 
ices rather  than  have  her  with  me  after  I  marry  Mr. 
Briscot.  She  made  my  life  miserable  during  Mr.  Bir- 
ney's  lifetime,  by  threatening  to  disclose  that  secret 
every  time  I  did  anything  she  did  not  approve  of. 
It  is  quite  bad  enough  to  live  with  such  a  thing  ever 
before  one,  without  being  kept  in  constant  terror  with 
threats  of  that  nature.  However,  there  is  nothing  else 
to  be  done.  Keep  her,  I  am  forced  to  do,  and  keep 
her/silent  at  any  cost." 

The  next  day  Sarah  arrived.  The  force  of  her  fury 
had  spent  itself,  but  there  still  lurked  a  very  demon 
in  her  eyes.  Never  would  she  forget  her  injury 
so  long  as  she  lived.  If  ever  a  chance  presented  it- 
self, of  repaying  her  conqueror — be  it  fifty  years 
hence — she  would  have  discharged  the  debt  a  hundred 
fold,  with  great  alacrity. 

Mrs.  Birney  seriously  remonstrated  with  her;  all 
to  no  purpose.  No  one  could  persuade  her,  she  had 
acted  in  any  save  a  very  proper  manner.  She  did  not 
strive  to  hide  or  keep  back  one  word  or  action,  but  re- 
lated the  entire  circumstance,  even  to  the  very  last 
kick. 

"Sarah,  I  am  positively  ashamed  of  you.  I  never 
knew  you  to  act  in  such  a  disgraceful  manner  before." 

"Because  I  nevah  had  reason  to,"  retorted  Sarah. 

"What  will  Mr.  Westlake  and  his  housekeeper 
think  of  your  training?" 

"Humph!  The  worse  they  think  of  it  the  bettah 
foah  me." 


74  The  Dark  Strain. 

"You  were  very  imprudent.  You  know  how  I  have 
tried  to  shield  Aphra.  Now  suppose  he  should  take 
revenge  by  telling  her,  and  mar  her  whole  life.  It 
would  kill  her,  Sarah,  and  you  would  be  to  blame  for 
it." 

Sarah  made  no  reply,  but  busied  herself  about  the 
room. 

"She  needed  you,  Sarah,"  continued  Mrs.  Birney, 
in  reproach.  "I  sent  you  with  her  expressly  to  take 
care  of  her,  and  because  she  was  all  alone  among 
strangers.  You  have  always  said  you  loved  Aphra. 
Do  you  think  you  showed  your  affection  when  you 
would  not  endure  such  a  trifling  thing  as  that  in  si- 
lence, for  her  sake?  Think  of  it  now — she  is  there  all 
alone.  Not  one  friendly  hand  to  do  one  thing  for 
her.  Not  one  friendly  voice  to  listen  to." 

"I  tried  hard  enough  to  stay.  I  kicked  an'  yelled, 
an'  bit,  an'  scratched  all  I  could,"  declared  the  culprit. 

"But  that  was  all  too  late.  You  knew  the  circum- 
stances of  the  marriage,  and  should  have  had  in- 
tuition enough  to  see  that  your  line  of  conduct  would 
never  answer.  You  should  have  quietly  acquiesced, 
and  never  attempted  disobedience,  let  alone  open 
defiance.  The  principal  thing  which  reconciled  me  to 
Aphra's  going  was  the  knowledge  of  your  being  with 
her." 

At  heart  Sarah  was  convinced  of  her  folly  and  rash- 
ness, yet  she  never  admitted  it.  As  the  consciousness 
of  her  futile  disobedience  came  more  and  more  to  her, 
in  the  same  proportion  her  hatred  of  Mr.  Westlake 
and  Mrs.  Jicks  increased.  She  did  feel  very  badly, 


A  One-Sided  Affair.  75 

though,  about  her  nursling.  Could  she  have  foreseen  to 
what  her  conduct  would  lead,  she  would  have  obeyed 
in  the  first  instance.  Now,  however,  it  was  too  late 
to  think  of  that. 

The  following  week  found  Mrs.  Birney,  with  Sarah 
as  lady's  maid,  at  the  seaside.  The  days  passed  very 
pleasantly  by,  there  being  an  abundance  of  gay  com- 
pany, with  every  facility  for  enjoyment.  Mr.  Briscot 
often  came  for  a  day  or  two.  He  stood  very  much  in 
awe  of  his  intended  wife,  nevertheless  his  visits  were 
a  »great  source  of  comfort  and  pleasure  to  him.  To 
look  upon  her  beautiful  face  and  graceful  figure — and 
to  note  the  admiration  she  won  from  many,  and  envy 
from  not  a  few  around  her,  always  filled  his  soul  with 
wonder  at  her  condescending  to  stoop  to  him. 

These  were  indeed  red-letter  days  to  him.  He  was 
not  in  the  least  aware  of  her  embarrassment  at  being 
compelled  to  appear  with  him  in  polite  society.  Still 
he  would  not  have  been  at  all  surprised  had  he  known 
of  it,  and,  undoubtedly,  would  have  sought  to  spare 
her  some  of  the  mortification  by  not  appearing  so 
often. 

He  had  begun  life  poor.  Fortune  had  smiled  upon 
his  determined  efforts,  and  after  many  years  he  had 
awakened  to  the  fact  of  his  being  a  millionaire.  At  the 
same  time  he  realized  that  the  best  part  of  his  life  had 
been  consumed  by  the  attainment  of  his  wealth.  He 
did  not  care  to  go  on  hoarding  money  until  death 
should  come.  He  wanted  a  home,  some  one  to  care 
for — possibly  to  care  for  him,  and  some  one  to  leave 
his  wealth  to.  With  all  his  money  he  knew  very  well 


76  The  Dark  Strain. 

he  was  debarred  from  the  recognition  of  the  class  his 
wealth  ranked  him  among.  He  was  ambitious  and 
longed  to  have  the  world  recognize  his  worth.  Plainly 
there  was  but  one  way  to  attain  this  end:  To  find  a 
woman  who  could  give  him  the  position  he  coveted  in 
exchange  for  his  wealth.  His  heart's  desire  was  granted 
when  he  met  Hester  Birney.  He  had  hardly  dared  to 
offer  himself,  lest  he  be  repulsed  with  scorn.  Yet, 
being  very  shrewd,  he  guessed  from  little  nothings  in 
her  manner,  that  like  Barkis,  she  was  "willin',"  so  he 
made  the  plunge.  Mrs.  Birney  immediately  rescued 
him  by  her  gracious  consent.  He  was  henceforth  a 
deeply  grateful  man. 

It  was  utterly  impossible  for  one,  single  minded 
as  James  Briscot,  to  be  in  such  a  close  bond  with  so 
lovely  a  woman  as  Hester  Birney,  and  not  learn  to 
love  her.  Although  he  was  by  no  means  fool  enough 
to  think,  even  for  a  moment,  she  returned  any  of  his 
affection.  He  thought — poor  simpleton — he  could  go 
on  forever  in  that  way,  loving  her  in  his  own  quiet, 
constrained  manner,  and  be  satisfied  with  her  polite 
tolerance  of  nim.  He  learned  his  mistake  to  his  cost, 
as  has  many  another  similarly  deluded. 

Among  many  new  acquaintances  made  at  the  sea- 
shore, Mrs.  Birney  met  a  wealthy  widow,  Mrs.  Chester 
Paine.  Mrs.  Paine  was  striving  to  make  a  name  for 
herself — not  as  Hester  Birney,  by  entrapping  the 
eligible  unwary — by  writing  naughty  books  and  rid- 
ing a  bicycle  in  a  very  much  abbreviated  skirt.  Not 
that  there  was  anything  particularly  noticeable  in  the 
abbreviated  skirt,  excepting  that  Mrs.  Paine  was 


A  One-Sided  Affair.  77 

quite  sixty  years  of  age,  and  rather  stout.  She  dressed 
her  grey  hair  in  a  huge,  befrizzled  bush  all  about  her 
head  in  the  fond  delusion  that  it  made  her  large  face 
look  smaller  and  more  infantile. 

The  result  of  the  combination  of  short  skirts  and 
bushy  hair  was  often  productivve  of  ludicrous  incident. 
Such  as  of  a  green,  Irish  nursery  maid,  fresh  from  the 
old  sod,  hastily  catching  up  her  nursling  and  running 
as  if  pursued  by  the  very  "divil"  himself,  when  Mrs. 
Paine  was  quietly  sauntering  down  the  beach  on  her 
morning's  walk. 

This  woman  was  not  slow  in  sounding  Hester  Bir- 
ney's  depths.  Before  she  had  been  acquainted  with 
her  two  weeks,  she  had  mentally  fathomed  Mrs.  Bir- 
ney's  social  standing,  private  difficulties — in  regard  to 
lack  of  funds — and  consequent  engagement  to  Mr. 
Briscot.  She  realized  at  a  glance  Mrs.  Birney's  at- 
tractiveness, and  for  reasons  best  known  to  herself, 
attached  herself  to  that  lady  at  once. 

She  told  Hester  all  about  her  embryo  books,  and 
loaned  her  the  typewritten  copies  to  read,  asking  her 
opinion  of  them  afterward.  One  she  had  loaned  her, 
was, — in  the  author's  own  words, — the  story  of  a 
young  married  woman  who  had  gone  to  the  dogs  and 
was  glad  of  it.  To  Mrs.  Paine's  great  disgust  her 
publisher  refused  to  accept  unless  it  were  changed, 
and  it  was  on  this  topic  the  aggrieved  writer  was  un- 
burdening herself  to  her  chosen  friend. 

"He  says  it  will  not  do  to  put  it  so  plainly,"  com- 
plained Mrs.  Paine.  "That  American  readers  do  not 
care  for  that  sort  of  thing.  It  would  be  all  right  if 


78  The  Dark  Strain. 

it  were  French.  He  insists  on  my  striking  out  the 
seventeenth  chapter.  Now  tell  me,  Mrs.  Birney,  do 
you  really  think  such  things  should  be  cloaked  ?" 

"Well,  candidly,  Mrs.  Paine,"  replied  Hester,  who 
was  by  no  means  fond  either  of  the  writer  or  her 
books,  "I  prefer  the  cloak." 

"Well,  I  don't.  I  have  gotten  beyond  casing 
whether  the  morals  of  a  book  are  good  or  bad." 

"I  would  hardly  look  at  it  in  that  light,  but  rather, 
the  effect  it  would  have  on  others." 

"I  read  it  aloud  to  that  deaf  old  Miss  Hastings,  who 
sits  at  my  table,  before  you  came,  and  what  do  you 
think  she  said?" 

"I  could  not  tell." 

"When  I  had  finished  it,  she  said,  'let  me  see,  you 
said  that  was  the  story  of  your  life,  did  you  not?'  I 
could  have  batted  her,"  exclaimed  the  injured  Mrs. 
Paine. 

Mrs.  Birney  could  not  repress  a  smile.  She  had  no 
sympathy  with  Mrs.  Paine.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
she  knew  that  lady  so  thoroughly  understood  her  own 
motives.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  knew  that  lady 
was  really  jealous  of  the  general  admiration  she  re- 
ceived, and  was  ambitious  of  turning  some  of  that  ad- 
miration toward  herself.  Yes,  this  woman  did  en- 
.deavor,  how  successfully,  will  be  seen  later,  to  set 
up  her  charms  against  those  of  Hester  Birney.  Oh, 
the  egotism  of  mortal  woman ! 


The  Face  at  the  Window.  79 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    FACE    AT    THE    WINDOW. 

THE  month  of  August  had  dragged  wearily  by  to 
Aphra.  Not  the  timid,  frightened  girl  who  had  begged 
so  piteously  on  her  knees  for  a  favor  from  her  hus- 
band ;  but  the  proud,  cold,  defiant  woman  who  had 
emerged  from  her  tempest  of  bitter  grief.  She  moved 
about  the  house  with  as  stately  a  manner  as  even  her 
mother  could  command.  One  would  scarcely  have 
dreamed  the  childlike  Aphra  could  be  so  cold  and 
proud. 

She  never  looked  either  her  husband  or  Mrs.  Jicks 
in  the  face,  but  met  them  on  their  own  ground  of 
studied,  frigid  politeness.  Nor  did  she  ask  one  favor 
of  either,  be  it  never  so  small.  Mr.  Westlake  was 
highly  gratified  by  the  apparent  change  in  her.  Be- 
fore he  had  merely  looked  upon  her  with  scorn,  as  a 
spoiled  baby.  Now  he  realized  he  had  met  a  foeman 
worthy  of  His  steel.  It  would  be  a  rare  pleasure  to 
conquer  this  proud,  haughty  beauty;  to  make  her 
kneel  and  grovel  at  his  feet.  He  had  an  old  score  to 
pay  off,  and  would  pay  it  well  with  all  its  years  of  ac- 
cumulated interest. 


8o  The  Dark  Strain. 

Like  two  demons  he  and  Mrs.  Jicks  licked  their 
lips  and  winked  their  eyes  at  the  prospect  of  humbling 
and  debasing  this  peerless  girl. 

Poor  Aphra!  Only  in  the  sanctity  of  her  room,  or 
when  quite  alone  by  herself,  would  she  lay  aside  the 
frozen  mask  of  pride  and  be  her  own  self  again.  How 
often  she  thought  of  her  happy  home,  and  dear  mother, 
for  whose  sake  she  was  enduring  so  much.  How  of- 
ten, too,  did  she  commence  a  letter,  pouring  out  all 
her  girlish  grief  and  woe ;  her  love  and  longing ;  her 
loneliness  and  despair,  only  to  tear  it  up  and  burn  the 
fragments.  No,  she  had  indeed  taken  up  her  cross 
for  her  mother's  sake,  for  her  sake  she  would  bear  it 
in  silence  so  long  as  strength  was  given  her. 

Aphra  often  wondered  why  she  never  received  any 
letters  from  her  mother.  She  knew  Mr.  Westlake  oc- 
casionally heard  from  her,  for  he  would  mention  it. 
She  vaguely  wondered  whether  he  had  written  dis- 
paraging accounts  of  her,  that  her  mother  thought  it 
better  not  to  write  directly  to  her.  She  even  thought, 
perhaps  he  might  be  keeping  her  mother's  letters  from 
her,  but  she  was  too  proud,  too  disdainful  to  ask. 
She  grieved  very  much  over  the  lack  of  loving  corre- 
spondence between  herself  and  her  dear  mother,  yet 
she  reasoned  if  it  were  true  that  he  had  kept  her 
mother's  letters  from  her,  he  would  surely  keep  hers, 
too,  and  she  would  not  allow  him  to  have  that  satis- 
faction. 

She  would  lie  out  on  the  grass  beneath  the  friendly 
shade  of  the  stately  old  trees,  gazing  up  at  the  blue 
sky  and  fluttering  birds,  and  dream  she  was  a  happy, 


The  Face  at  the  Window.  81 

care-free  girl  again.  Nature  became  her  sole  com- 
panion, and  very  fond  of  her  she  grew.  Every  flower, 
every  bush,  every  tree,  every  bird's  nest,  had  its  own 
especial  interest  for  her. 

She  would  go  to  the  stable  and  pat  the  sleek  horses, 
laying  her  lovely  face  against  their  noses  until  they 
looked  daily  for  her  coming  and  neighed  a  loving  wel- 
come. Jake,  the  coachman,  and  Pete,  the  stable  boy, 
soon  learned  to  look  for  her  coming  as  well  as  the 
quadrupeds.  The  stables  assumed  a  cleaner,  brighter 
look  in  anticipation  of  her  visits.  Aggie,  too,  became 
very  much  attached  to  her  mistress,  and  in  secret  pitied 
her  lonely  life.  She  was  far  too  wise  to  ever  let  Mrs. 
Jicks  suspect  even  a  hint  of  tender  feeling  for  the  hap- 
less wife.  Aphra  fully  appreciated  this  silent  affection 
and  fully  returned  it,  although  she  made  little  or  no 
sign  of  it,  fearing  lest  even  she  would  be  taken  from 
her  if  it  were  known. 

The  first  week  in  September,  Mr.  Westlake  left 
home  on  a  business  trip,  as  he  explained  to  his  wife. 
His  absence  made  but  little  difference  to  her  since 
Mrs.  Jicks  remained  to  keep  her  jet  black  eyes  glaring 
upon  her. 

One  rainy  morning,  being  tired  of  her  room,  and 
not  caring  to  go  out  in  the  wet,  Aphra  thought  she 
would  like  to  go  through  some  of  the  old  part  of  the 
house  again.  She  wandered  through  the  rooms,  paus- 
ing as  long  as  she  wished  in  each,  examining  the 
faded  furnishings  and  cracked  pictures,  recalling  to 
mind  the  various  stories  connected  with  each,  as  Mrs. 
Jicks  had  related  them.  She  seemed  to  live  among 


82  The  Dark  Strain. 

the  dead  and  gone  inmates  of  those  old,  musty  rooms; 
to  hear  the  merry  laughter  and  gay  tripping  of  feet; 
the  sounds  of  sorrow  and  mourning ;  the  pride  of  birth, 
the  joy  of  the  marriage  feast;  the  bitter  grief  of 
death,  down  through  the  sun  and  storms  of  years,  dec- 
ades, and  perhaps  of  centuries.  All  the  thoughts 
came  crowding  into  her  brain,  bringing  the  past  back 
most  vividly. 

When  she  came  to  the  last  room,  in  which  she  had 
stood  with  Mrs.  Jicks  and  noticed  the  finger  marks 
on  the  door  and  footprints  in  the-  dust,  she  found  the 
outer  door  locked.  While  standing  there  perplexed 
and  wondering  why  it  should  be  locked  now  when  it 
was  not  at  that  time,  she  heard  the  sound  of  approach- 
ing footsteps.  Something  filled  her  breast  with  fear. 
Tremblingly  she  glanced  about  her  for  a  safe  hiding 
place.  Rushing  behind  an  old  mahogany  wardrobe, 
she  listened  with  bated  breath  to  the  oncoming  foot- 
steps. 

Mrs.  Jicks  soon  entered  the  room,  bearing  in  her 
hands  a  tray  of  simple  food.  Supporting  the  tray 
against  the  door  casing,  leading  into  the  locked  room, 
she  drew  a  ring  of  keys  from  her  pocket,  and  fitting 
one  in  the  lock,  opened  the  door  and  passed  from  view 
into  the  adjoining  room.  Tiptoeing  up  to  the  crack  of 
the  door,  Aphra  followed  her  movements  with  increas- 
ing wonder.  Mrs.  Jicks  crossed  the  room  in  the  dusty 
footprints,  opened  the  very  door  bearing  the  finger 
marks,  and  closed  it  noiselessly  behind  her.  What 
could  that  mean?  Surely  she  had  said  that  door  led 
into  the  ruined  portion  of  the  tower,  and  was  never 


The  Face  at  the  Window.  83 

used.  Aphra  would  have  given  anything  to  have  fol- 
lowed her,  but  she  dared  not.  Instead,  she  crept 
back  to  her  hiding  place  and  waited  for  Mrs.  Jicks 
to  reappear.  Soon  she  came  in  sight,  bearing  the  tray 
with  empty  dishes,  and  after  locking  the  door,  passed 
on  downstairs. 

With  a  wondering  heart  Aphra  followed  her  at  a 
safe  distance  and  went  to  her  room  to  think  out  the 
problem. 

"Some  one  must  be  shut  up  in  that  room/'  she  so- 
liloquized. "I  wonder  who  it  can  be  ?  If  I  only  dared 
question  Aggie,  but  I  dare  not.  If  it  be  a  secret,  I 
would  be  very  likely  to  get  my  fingers  pretty  badly 
burned  by  meddling.  There  are  windows  in  every 
story  of  that  old  tower ;  perhaps  if  I  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out I  may  at  some  time  or  other  see  some  one's  face 
in  a  window,  if  there  be  any  one  in  there  at  all.  I  will 
go  out  just  as  soon  as  it  clears  off  and  commence  my 
vigil.  There  goes  the  dinner  bell.  I  must  hurry  or  I 
shall  be  late." 

Aphra  hurried  her  preparations  as  best  she  could. 
She  had  become  quite  accustomed  to  brushing  her  own 
hair  and  lacing  her  boots  by  this  time,  and  before  many 
minutes  elapsed  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  dining 
room. 

Mrs.  Jicks  presided  at  the  table  with  her  usual 
masterfulness,  looking  utterly  unconscious  of  all  such 
things  as  fastened  doors,  ruined  towers  and  tea  trays. 
Aphra  kept  her  eyes  bent  upon  her  plate,  lest  the 
piercing  black  ones  ferret  out  their  knowledge. 
Neither  cared  to  make  any  pretense  at  conversation. 


84  The  Dark  Strain. 

There  was  no  need  of  any  false  politeness,  as  each 
very  correctly  weighed  the  other's  opinion  of  her. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  the  rain  had  ceased. 
Streaks  and  patches  of  blue  sky  being  visible,  Aphra 
donned  her  garden  hat,  and  set  out  ostensibly  for  her 
usual  stroll.  She  thought  it  better  not  to  go  directly 
to  the  tower,  fearing  that  despite  the  angelic  serenity 
of  Mrs.  Jicks'  countenance,  she  might,  after  all,  have 
detected  her  presence  behind  the  wardrobe.  Indeed, 
Aphra  scarcely  dared  think  in  that  lady's  presence  for 
fear,  through  possession  of  some  seventh  sense,  she 
could  read  her  very  thoughts. 

She  strolled  around  among  the  trees  and  rocks, 
visited  the  stable,  watched  the  swollen  brook  tossing 
pebbles  in  its  muddy  tide,  and  at  last  as  if  by  mere  ac- 
cident, walked  leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the  ruins. 
She  scanned  its  grey,  green-trimmed  walls  and  noted 
where  the  other  part  of  the  structure  joined  it. 

"Yes,  it  does  join  right  against  those  ruined  stories. 
I  can  plainly  see  there  is  no  door  coming  in  from  the 
other  part.  Let  me  see,  might  there  not  be  a  space 
for  a  stairway  between  the  two?  Then  that  door  could 
open  on  the  stairway,  and  by  going  up  one  flight  one 
could  reach  one  or  both  those  upper  floors  in  the  tower. 
I  think  that  must  be  the  way  of  it.  The  walls  of  the 
tower  are  fully  three  feet  thick,  if  not  more.  The 
prisoner,  whoever  it  is,  and  if  there  be  one,  must  be 
located  in  one  of  those  two  upper  rooms.  Now,  if  I 
watch  those  windows  every  day,  when  I  am  out  of 
doors,  I  must  catch  sight  of  a  face  at  some  time.  I 


The  Face  at  the  Window.  85 

will  watch  every  day  until  I  do,  providing,  at  all  times, 
of  course,  I  am  not  found  out  or  caught  at  it." 

Aphra  sat  down  on  a  sheltered  bench,  and  pretend- 
ing to  read,  glanced  furtively  up  at  the  windows  every 
few  minutes.  Suddenly  her  book  fell  in  her  lap. 
With  white  face  and  wide  eyes  she  was  gazing  up 
into  a  face  framed  in  the  topmost  window.  A  face 
whose  features  she  could  not  see  at  all  distinctly,  but 
around  whose  head  was  wound  a  regal  coronet  of 
snow  white  hair. 

*"A  woman,  then !"  she  murmured,  in  an  awe-struck 
whisper. 

"Who  can  it  be?    His  mother?    Her  mother?" 

The  head  disappeared,  and  though  Aphra  sat  there 
watching  for  more  than  an  hour,  it  did  not  return. 
Feeling  too  restless  to  return  to  the  house  at  once,  she 
returned  to  the  stable  and  thoughtfully  stroked  the 
noses  of  her  pets,  vaguely  wondering  if  they  knew 
aught  of  it,  and  whether  they  would  tell  her  if  they 
could  speak.  Jake  and  Pete  noted  her  preoccupied 
manner,  and  after  she  was  gone  commented  on  it,  at- 
tributing it  to  regret  at  the  prospect  of  her  husband's 
early  return  home.  Every  servant  in  the  house  was 
well  aware  of  the  strained  relations  existing  between 
husband  and  wife,  and  discussed  it  freely  among  them- 
selves. Some  of  them  laid  all  the  blame  on  Mrs.  Jicks, 
hating  her  more  cordially  than  ever,  yet  with  undimin- 
ished  fear.  Others  were  positive  there  never  had  been 
any  affection  between  the  wedded  pair,  and  were  much 
at  a  loss  to  know  any  sensible  reason  for  the  marriage. 
All  agreed  in  admiring  the  lovely  bride  and  pitying 


86  The  Dark  Strain. 

her  lonely  lot.  All  agreed  in  disliking  and  fearing  the 
husband  and  his  housekeeper. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Mr.  Westlake  re- 
turned. When  Aphra  went  down  to  supper  she  found 
her  husband  there,  with  three  gentlemen  (  ?)  guests. 
Mr.  Westlake  greeted  his  wife  very  pleasantly  and 
presented  to  her  his  friends — Col.  Murdock,  a  short, 
thick-set  man,  with  a  decidedly  florid  complexion  and 
swaggering  air ;  Major  Totten,  a  very  thin  man,  with 
a  mild,  deprecatory  manner  and  eyes  like  a  boiled  cod- 
fish ;  Mr.  Gregory  Hinks,  step-son  of  the  Colonel,  a 
very  dapper  young  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  self 
assurance  and  a  fair  amount  of  good  looks  about  him. 

Aphra  bowed  coldly  and  politely  to  each  of  the  trio, 
and,  with  a  slightly  elevated  head,  swept  into  her  seat 
at  the  table. 

Col.  Murdock  thought :  "Gad !  What  a  stunning 
woman !" 

Major  Totten,  ditto:  "Dear  me-  I  hope  Westlake 
won't  seat  me  beside  her.  She  looks  as  if  she  might 
put  poison  in  a  fellow's  coffee." 

Mr.  Gregory  Hinks :  "There  is  a  woman  worth 
making  love  to." 

The  gentlemen  kept  the  conversational  ball  rolling 
pretty  rapidly.  At  least  Col.  Murdock  and  his  host 
did.  Major  Totten  retired  like  a  turtle  within  himself 
and  said  but  little.  Mr.  Hinks  endeavored  to  engage 
the  hostess  in  a  tete-a-tete  conversation.  Mrs.  Jicks 
was  unusually  brilliant  and  talkative,  seeming  deter- 
mined to  rap  the  Major's  head  out  of  his  shell  and 
force  him  to  talk,  but,  as  is  customary  with  all  other 


The  Face  at  the  Window.  87 

turtles,  the  harder  and  more  persistently  she  rapped, 
the  more  retracted  his  head  became. 

The  conversation  was  not  on  either  agreeable  nor 
elevating  topics,  to  Aphra's  mind,  being  principally 
composed  of  discussing  horse  racing — winners  and 
losers — club  chat  and  kindred  subjects.  She  replied 
frigidly  to  Mr.  Hinks'  beguiling  remarks  and  offered 
none  of  her  own.  She  was  very  angry  at  being  obliged 
to  receive  such  a  class  of  men  as  guests,  and  deter- 
mined to  have  as  little  to  say  to  them  as  she  possibly 
couicT  She  was  greatly  relieved  when  Mrs.  Jicks  arose 
from  the  table.  Had  she  dared,  she  would  have  shut 
herself  up  in  her  own  room.  As  it  was,  she  feared 
arousing  her  husband's  anger  by  discourtesy  to  his 
guests.  Consequently,  she  followed  Mrs.  Jicks  to  the 
drawing-room  to  await  the  coming  of  the  men. 

It  was  an  evening  of  torture  to  Aphra.  The  vulgar 
manners  and  uncouth  looks  of  her  husband's  friends 
disgusted  her  intensely.  However,  she  maintained  a 
show  of  politeness  until  she  could  make  her  escape. 
She  felt  bitterly  resentful  toward  her  husband  for 
bringing  such  men  in  her  presence.  It  was  such  a 
flagrant  insult  to  her.  Nothing  but  fear  of  some  dire 
punishment  kept  her  from  resenting  it  openly.  She 
had  seen  enough  of  Mr.  Westlake's  character  to  make 
her  chary  of  arousing. his  opposition. 

Downstairs  the  objects  of  Aphra's  wrath  were  mak- 
ing merry  among  themselves,  playing  cards,  drinking 
and  smoking.  Wine  being  too  much  of  a  Sunday 
school  drink  for  the  seasoned  guests,  whisky  was  'the 
order  of  the  day — or  night.  Long  after  midnight  they 
kept  up  their  revels.  Could  the  disgusted  Aphra  have 


88  The  Dark  Strain. 

looked  in  upon  them  about  three  o'clock,  she  would 
have  been  terrified,  indeed.  The  mild  eyed,  quiet 
Major  laughing  uproariously  and  cutting  all  sorts  of 
capers  at  the  expense  of  his  companions ;  now  pulling 
all  the  cards  from  his  opponent's  hand ;  again  pinch- 
ing his  partner's  gentlemanly  legs;  then  running  be- 
hind some  one,  gaily  dumping  him  on  the  floor,  all  the 
while  performing  some  sort  of  wild  dance  about  as 
gracefully  executed  as  a  cow  might. 

The  exasperated  Colonel  finally  attempted  to  knock 
the  festive  Major  down  in  order  to  quiet  him,  but 
having  taken  too  heavy  a  jag  on,  fell  full  length  on 
the  floor  himself,  and,  unable  to  rise  to  his  feet  again; 
was  soon  snoring  peacefully.  Mr.  Westlake  and  Mr. 
Hinks  were  not  quite  so  severely  under  the  weather, 
either  from  putting  more  water  in  their  whisky  or 
from  being  more  accustomed  to  carrying  heavy 
weights.  They  sat  in  their  respective  seats  boozily 
eyeing  the  lively  Major  and  his  sleeping  friend. 

"Say,  Westlake,  where'd  you  come,  hie,  'cross  that 
deucedly  fine  gal?  I  always  s'posed,  hie,  you  was 
rather  gone  on  Jicks." 

"When  a  man  gets  m-married,  he  generally  wants 
a  fine  looking  w-wife.  S-so  did  I." 

"Well,  hie,  if  she's  your  wife,  w-why  don't,  hie,  you 
put  her  in  the  lead  here?  Jicks  runs  things  same's 
ever,  hie,  don't  she?" 

"Y-yes,  I  g-guess  she  does.  B-but  you  s-see  it's 
hard  to  1-learn  an  old  d-dog  new  tricks." 

"Let's  have,  hie,  another  drink  and,  hie,  drink  the 
beauty's  health  and,  hie,  long  life  and,  hie,  a  younger 
husband." 


Aphra  Rebels.  89 


CHAPTER  X. 

APHEA     REBELS. 

»*"*" 

How  Aphra  managed  to  get  through  the  next  twc 
weeks  she  could  not  have  told.  Still  she  did  get 
through  them  in  some  way.  Perhaps  it  was  principally 
owing  to  the  fact  that  as  a  general  thing  the  gentlemen 
were  apparently  fonder  of  their  own  society  than  of 
hers,  and  so  did  not  tax  her  entertaining  powers  tc 
any  great  extent.  Nearly  all  of  each  day  was  spent  in 
hunting  or  fishing,  and  often  the  hunting  was  carried 
on  during  the  evenings,  in  the  moonlight. 

The  Major  certainly  was  afraid  of  Aphra.  He  was 
constantly  backing  out  of  her  way  and  dodging  be- 
hind some  of  the  others,  when  she  chanced  to  come 
too  near  for  his  personal  safety,  as  though  he  thought 
she  was  after  him  to  box  his  ears,  or  shake  him  out  of 
his  boots.  Once,  on  meeting  her  on  the  stairs,  he  was 
thrown  into  such  a  state  of  trepidation  as  to  make  a 
hasty  attempt  to  back  down  out  of  her  way,  with  the 
unfortunate  result  of  tripping  up  and  falling  all  the 
way  down,  landing  on  his  head.  So  great  was  his 
terror  that  he  rolled  over  and  over  along  the  hallway, 


90  The  Dark  Strain. 

not  daring  to  take  time  to  get  up  on  his  feet  and  dodge 
behind  the  hat  rack.  Although  it  is  to  be  presumed; 
had  she  appeared  after  he  had  gotten  on  the  outside 
of  a  quart  or  so  of  applejack,  he  would  have  chucked 
her  under  the  chin,  with  as  playful  cunning  as  he 
pinched  his  friends. 

Col.  Murdock  mentally  voted  Aphra  a  great  bore. 
She  had  such  stuck-up  airs.  Nobody  could  say  or 
do  a  thing  when  she  was  around.  For  his  part,  he 
didn't  like  to  be  under  such  restraint.  If  he  wanted 
to  swear,  he  wanted  to  swear,  whether  there  was  a 
woman  about  or  not.  If  a  good  story  came  to  his 
mind,  he  wanted  to  tell  it  then  and  there,  and  not  have 
to  keep  it  until  she  got  out  of  the  way  and  he  had  for- 
gotten what  it  was  about.  He  would  have  been  hap- 
pier by  far  had  she  never  put  in  an  appearance  at  all 
during  his  stay.  It  was  frequently  due  to  him  that 
Aphra  was  allowed  to  remain  in  her  room  in  peace. 

His  step-son  was  the  only  one  who  really  enjoyed 
Aphra's  society  and  made  no  attempt  to  hide  his  ad- 
miration of  her.  Were  it  not  for  this  fact  Aphra 
would  scarcely  have  been  molested  in  her  seclusion, 
or  called  upon  to  assist  in  the  entertaining  of  her  hus- 
band's guests.  Mr.  Hinks  was  continually  urging 
Mr.  Westlake  to  ask  his  wife  to  favor  the  company 
with  music.  Quite  as  continually  the  timid  Major  and 
surly  Colonel  voted  down  the  proposition. 

Mr.  Hinks  tried  his  level  best  to  obtain  some  sign 
of  favor  from  the  cold,  haughty  object  of  his  devotion. 
Not  an  hour  passed  in  her  society  but  that  he  devoted 
himself  most  assiduously  to  her — all  in  vain.  Aphra 


Aphra  Rebels.  91 

repelled  his  every  advance ;  first  in  cold  politeness ; 
then — seeing  him  still  persevering — in  haughty  dis- 
dain ;  and  at  length  she  was  obliged  to  treat  him  with 
withering  scorn. 

Nothing  daunted,  the  young  roue  kept  on,  believing 
he  would  conquer  in  the  end.  Mr.  Westlake  was  fully 
alive  to  the  situation,  and  looked  on  with  his  bland 
smile,  secretly  rejoicing  in  his  wife's  torture.  Not 
one  look,  and  but  few  words  of  Mr.  Hinks  escaped  him. 
Yet  he  made  no  attempt  to  check  his  advances ;  rather, 
indeed,  furthering  his  wishes  as  much  as  he  could  by 
requesting  Aphra's  presence  more  and  more,  then  en- 
gaging the  Major  and  Colonel  in  a  quiet  game,  thus 
leaving  his  wife  to  battle  with  her  tormentor,  smiling 
broadly  and  enjoying  the  scene  immensely. 

Aphra's  spirit  arose  hot  within  her  at  this  treatment. 
Yet  she  was  far  too  proud  to  complain,  knowing  ful 
well  what  satisfaction  she  would  get,  and,  being  con- 
fident of  her  ability  to  look  after  her  own  interests,  re- 
solved to  fight  it  out  alone  and  unaided. 

During  the  last  week  of  their  stay  the  visitors  grev\ 
more  reckless  in  their  demeanor,  and  less  careful  of 
keeping  up  an  appearance  of  respectability  in  Aphra's 
presence. 

One  evening  as  they  entered  the  drawing-room  after 
supper,  both  the  Major  and  Colonel  showed  unmis- 
takable signs  of  being  the  worse  for  liquor.  The 
Major  was  unusually  talkative,  and  the  Colonel  tu. 
commonly  taciturn.  Aphra  quickly  noted  their  man- 
ner, and  the  hot  blood  mounted  to  her  face. 

"You  cannot  refuse  to  sing  for  me  to-night,  Mrs 


92  The  Dark  Strain. 

Westlake,"  said  Mr.  Hinks,  bending  low  over  her 
chair. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Westlake,  there's  a  good  girl !  Give  us 
a  song,"  chimed  in  the  voluble  Major. 

To  avoid  a  scene  she  arose  to  comply,  burning  with 
indignation.  Seating  herself  at  the  piano,  with  trem- 
bling fingers  and  choking  voice  she  sang  a  simple  little 
song.  Gregory  Hinks  hung  over  her,  apparently  de- 
vouring every  tone  of  the  sweet,  full  voice.  Before  the 
last  note  had  died  away  the  Colonel,  unable  to  hole 
himself  any  longer,  blurted  out: 

"Damn  such  a  milk  and  water  tune !" 

Aphra's  eyes  flashed,  and  she  cast  a  quick  sidt 
glance  toward  her  husband,  only  to  encounter  his  sar- 
castic smile. 

"Give  us  something  quick  and  devilish:  'Won't 
Marry  a  Nigger  Wench,'  or  something  like  that," 
cried  the  Major,  getting  up  on  his  feet,  preparatory 
to  keeping  time  with  the  music,  and  executing  a  fe\\ 
fancy  steps  accompanied  by  some  very  high  kicks, 
which  soon  landed  him  flat  on  his  back. 

Aphra  stood  up,  her  fair  face  blazing  with  anger. 
She  threw  up  her  haughty  head  and  swept  majestically 
from  the  room. 

"By  God !  Now  you've  done  it,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Hinks,  in  astonishment. 

"Damn  it  all,  let  her  go !  Good  riddance  to  bad  rub 
bish,  I  say,"  declared  the  Colonel. 

"That's  too  bad  in  her  to  fire  off  like  that  just  as  ] 
was  getting  ready  to  give  you  a  regular  nigger  break- 
down. I'll  tell  you  what,  Westlake,  she  needs  taming 


Aphra  Rebels.  93 

down.  I'll  just  give  you  a  tip  on  that.  If  she  was  my 
wife  I'd  knock  her  down  and  sit  on  her.  You're  too 
easy  with  her,  Westlake.  She'll  soon  run  us  all  out. 
You  want  to  tame  her  down,  Westlake!  Tame  her 
down !" 

Imagine  that  codfish-eyed  Major  delivering  himself 
of  this  piece  of  advice. 

"I'll  tame  her  down,  never  fear,"  smilingly  re- 
sponded the  host,  with  a  dangerous  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
"But  come  now,  let's  have  another  game  and  something 
to  drink." 

Before  retiring  for  the  night  Mr.  Westlake  sought 
Mrs.  Jicks  in  her  room  and  related  the  evening's  oc- 
currence. Her  black  eyes  flashed  exultantly  as  he 
proceeded  in  his  recital. 

"I  knew  she  would  cut  up  some  such  a  dido  as  that ; 
she  is  altogether  too  high  and  mighty." 

"Well,  she  shall  be  brought  down,  and  sat  upon,  too. 
I  will  show  her  who  is  master  here.  You  can  prepare 
that  other  room  in  the  tower  and  we  will  see  what  a 
few  weeks  of  solitary  confinement  there  will  do  toward 
taming  her." 

Mrs.  Jicks  smiled  triumphantly.  "That's  right.  I 
guess  she'll  come  to  terms  before  she  spends  much 
time  in  there." 

"To-morrow  morning  you  can  send  up  her  break- 
fast and  put  some  of  the  'peaceful'  in  her  coffee.  When 
it  takes  effect  we  will  move  her  in  her  new  quarters. 
Take  nothing  up  there  for  her  except  necessary  cloth- 
ing. Don't  let  her  have  a  book,  or  needle,  or  anythim 
to  pass  the  time  away.  The  more  solitary  and  monoto- 


94  The  Dark  Strain. 

nous  her  imprisonment,  the  sooner  she  will  get  down 
on  her  knees." 

"She  wanted  to  know,  when  I  was  showing  her  over 
the  house,  where  that  door  led  to.  She  will  find  out 
now.  I  wonder  how  she  will  like  the  looks  of  the 
other  side  of  it,"  laughed  Mrs.  Jicks,  when  she  was 
alone  again.  "Oh,  I'll  carry  out  your  directions  to  the 
letter.  But  you'll  find  tougher  stuff  to  deal  with  than 
you  are  bargaining  for,  or  I'll  miss  my  guess.  Her 
knees  will  have  to  be  broken  before  they  ever  bend  to 
Harmon  Westlake  again,  I'll  wager.  And  I  hope  she 
won't  give  in.  I'd  like  to  keep  her  there,  till  she's 
like  the  other  one.  No  one  shall  come  between  me 
and  him.  I  have  given  all  the  best  years  of  my  life 
to  him.  I  am  a  sharer  in  all  of  his  secrets.  I  am  his 
wife  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  should  be  in  the 
sight  of  earth.  He  wouldn't  give  me  that  position, 
but  now  he  wants  to  look  to  himself.  He  has  put  her 
in  my  power.  If  she  goes  mad,  I  will  have  another 
link  in  the  chain  of  my  control  over  him.  Woe  unto 
him  if  he  crosses  me  or  tries  me  too  far.  He  prom- 
ised me,  years  ago,  no  other  woman  should  ever  call 
him  husband.  He  has  broken  that  promise,  and  I 
will  make  him  rue  it.  I  could  hang  him,  and  by 
Heaven  I  would  if  I  could  only  slip  my  own  head  out 
of  the  noose.  He  shall  learn  what  it  is  to  break  his 
word  to  Isabella  Jicks." 

While  Mrs.  Jicks  was  nursing  her  wrath  against 
Mr.  Westlake  and  his  wife,  the  latter  was  pacing  her 
room  in  righteous  indignation. 

"To  think  that  I  should  be  compelled  to  endure 


Aphra  Rebels.  95 

such  a  life  as  this,"  she  cried,  with  clenched  hands  and 
set  teeth.  "Drunken  ruffians  for  daily  associates ! 
Not  one  atom  of  protection  from  that  grinning,  sneer- 
ing hound  who  calls  himself  my  husband !  I  will  defy 
him!  Let  him  come  near  me  or  threaten  me  if  he 
dare !  I  will  leave  this  house  and  go  where  I  am  not 
known.  He  shall  never  find  me.  I  shall  insist  on  hav- 
ing my  rights,  if  I  remain.  I  will  not  sub- 
mit to  such  indignities.  He  shall  respect  me 
or  I  shall  go.  I  will  not  endure  it.  Just  let 
hirn.-show  his  sneering  face,  to  threaten  me,  and  he 
will  see  that  I  am  fully  capable  of  caring  for  myself. 
He  is  a  coward !  A  contemptible  wretch !  Far  worse 
than  either  of  those  two  maudlin  fools.  He  had  not 
even  the  excuse  of  intoxication  for  his  conduct.  What 
man  would  sit  by,  calmly  smiling,  and  see  his  wife 
treated  in  such  a  manner?  I  believe  he  is  only  too 
well  pleased,  when  that  conceited  ass  tries  to  make 
love  to  me  in  his  open,  shameless  manner.  He  may 
encourage  him  in  it  for  all  I  know.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain, he  has  never  tried  to  check  him  in  any  way,  and 
when  I  have  looked  to  him  for  help  and  protection,  I 
have  always  met  that  contemptible  sneer.  I  could 
strike  him !  I  hate  that  look !" 

Aphra  stamped  her  feet  and  beat  her  hands  together 
in  her  rage.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down,  she  tramped 
like  a  caged  lioness,  her  anger  never  abating  in  the 
least,  but  gathering  force  as  remembrances  of  past 
insults  came  trooping  in  upon  her,  adding  fuel  to  the 
flame.  What  would  she  not  have  given  to  leave  that 
abode  of  torment  that  very  night;  to  be  back  once 


96  The  Dark  Strain. 

more  in  the  dear,  familiar  city,  in  the  well  loved  home. 

Hour  after  hour  struck,  still  she  could  not  calm  her 
excited  nerves  enough  to  admit  of  sleep.  The  grey 
streaks  of  dawn  stole  in  her  window,  before  she  at 
length  threw  her  worn  out  body  across  the  bed.  The 
hours  passed  swiftly  by  in  her  unconscious  slumber, 
until  the  sun  had  mounted  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
clock  struck  twelve.  Aphra  awoke  with  a  start. 
Springing  up  she  threw  aside  the  costly  evening  gown, 
all  crushed  and  wrinkled  from  her  sleep.  Bathing  her 
face  she  put  on  a  dainty  silk  wrapper,  and  rang  for 
her  maid. 

Aggie  answered  her  summons,  bearing  in  her  hands 
a  breakfast  tray  containing  a  tempting  meal,  delicious- 
ly  fragrant  coffee,  delicate  rolls,  juicy  oranges  and 
fresh  eggs.  The  girl  smiled  affectionately  in  Aphra's 
weary  face  as  she  set  the  tray  down  on  the  little 
table. 

"Did  you  git  youah  sleep  out,  Missy?" 

"Yes,  Aggie.  I  did  not  realize  it  was  so  very  late. 
Did  Mr.  Westlake  say  anything  about  my  not  being 
down  to  breakfast?" 

"No,  Missy,  I  didn't  heah  him  say  anything  about 
you  at  all." 

Before  she  had  finished  her  repast,  a  drowsy  feeling 
stole  over  her.  She  tried  to  rouse  herself.  "I  can't 
possibly  be  sleepy,"  she  thought ;  and  made  an  attempt 
to  reach  one  of  the  windows,  but  sank  down  on  the 
bed  in  an  unconscious  heap. 

Instantly  Mrs.  Jicks'  black  eyes  peered  in  at  the 
door,  and  beckoned  Mr.  Westlake,  who  had  stood 


Aphra  Rebels.  97 

within  his  room  waiting  from  the  moment  Aggie  had 
gone  back  to  the  kitchen. 

Together  they  raised  the  senseless  form,  and  walking 
as  rapidly  as  their  burden  would  permit,  entered  the 
disused  part  of  the  house.  On  through  the  old  rooms 
they  went;  through  the  very  room  in  which  Aphra 
had  hidden  behind  the  wardrobe ;  on  over  the  dust 
trodden  floor ;  through  the  finger-marked  door ;  up  a 
narrow  flight  of  steps,  and  into  a  square  room,  hung 
with  faded,  moth-eaten,  age-rotten  draperies.  Upon 
an*a"fttique  four-posted  bed  they  laid  her  down,  her 
white  face  rivalling  the  fresh  pillow  slip  in  purity  and 
pallor. 

"She  will  be  safe  enough  here,"  remarked  Mr.  West- 
lake,  trying  the  little,  pointed  windows,  which  were 
protected  by  stout  iron  lattice  work. 

"Yes,  she'll  be  safe  enough.  This  room  is  just  as 
strong  as  the  other  one,  and  that  has  stood  the  racket 
for  fifteen  years." 

After  contemplating  their  work  in  satisfaction,  the 
illustrious  pair  withdrew,  and  securely  fastening  the 
doors,  retraced  their  steps,  leaving  their  helpless  vic- 
tim to  sleep  off  the  effect  of  the  drug. 

Did  no  tender  thought  of  the  sweet  young  wife  stir 
some  long  dormant  chord  of  manly  feeling  in  her  hus- 
band's breast? 

Did  no  touch  of  womanly  sympathy  for  this  hapless 
member  of  her  own  sex  stir  within  the  time-hardened 
breast  of  Mrs.  Jicks? 

No,  not  one.    Not  a  thought,  not  a  feeling. 


98  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

APHRA'S     IMPRISONMENT. 

THE  sun  was  sending  long,  slanting  rays  of  yellow 
light  through  the  little  western  window  when  Aphra 
awoke.  How  heavy  her  eyelids  seemed  as  she  tried  to 
raise  them.  Her  limbs  felt  as  if  they  were  weighted 
with  lead.  A  sort  of  listless  helplessness  bound  her 
body  and  clogged  her  brain.  Little  by  little  she  be- 
came more  thoroughly  aroused,  and  increased  action 
started  the  sluggish  blood  on  its  customary  race. 

The  tall  posts  of  the  bedstead  stood  upright  around 
her  like  sentinels,  with  their  aged  hangings  clinging 
limply  between.  She  thought  she  must  be  dreaming 
as  her  eyes  wandered  slowly  round  the  room.  Every- 
thing seemed  so  strange.  It  was  the  sight  of  the  little 
pointed  windows  that  brought  her  to  a  realization  of 
her  whereabouts.  She  started  bolt  upright,  rubbing 
her  eyes  vigorously.  Yes,  indeed,  that  was  a  tow**" 
window  and  opposite  it  was  another. 

"Then  I  am  in  the  tower,"  she  exclaimed,  in  con- 
sternation, scrambling  out  upon  her  feet.  Her  head 
swam,  and  her  limbs  tottered  beneath  her  weight.  She 
clutched  at  the  bed  to  keep  her  from  falling;  then 
sat  down  upon  it  a  moment  to  gather  strength. 


Aphra's  Imprisonment.  99 

The  four  walls  displayed  their  straggling  remnants 
of  a  very  handsome,  costly  tapestry,  richly  embroidered 
in  exquisite,  dull-toned  colorings.  One  door  and  the 
two  windows  alone  were  uncovered.  Aphra  touched 
the  hangings,  to  find  they  fell  apart  when  her  fingers 
strained  the  rotten  thread.  A  single  oil  painting  hung 
against  the  wall,  representing  a  very  high  bred  lady 
with  a  Roman  nose,  and  arrayed  in  a  very  decollete 
dress  of  grey  brocade,  sleeveless  and  decorated  by  a 
Dwelled  stomacher. 

The  pictured  face  looked  at  Aphra  with  solemn 
eyes,  as  though  questioning  her  right  to  be  there, 
while  Aphra  herself  sat  lost  in  thought  as  to  how  she 
came  to  be  there. 

"I  certainly  never  came  here  myself,"  she  solilo- 
quized. "They  must  have  drugged  me  and  brought 
me  here.  That  accounts  for  my  wretched  feelings." 

The  pictured  lady  looked  her  acquiescence,  seeming 
to  think  it  quite  probable.  The  thought  of  the  white- 
haired  woman  she  had  seen  in  the  upper  room  of  the 
same  tower  came  to  her  like  a  flash. 

"Oh,  my  God !"  she  cried,  "am  I  to  be  kept  here  a 
prisoner,  too?" 

But  the  impossibility  of  such  a  thing  reassured  her. 
"I  wonder  just  where  I  am?" 

Going  to  the  western  window  she  looked  out.  "This 
is  the  room  directly  beneath  the  one  where  that  woman 
is.  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  out." 

A  few  minutes'  survey  of  the  barred  windows  con- 
vinced her  of  the  futility  of  any  efforts  in  that  line. 

"He  will  not  dare  to  keep  me  here  long.     Mother 


ioo  The  Dark  Strain. 

will  be  writing  to  know  why  she  does  not  hear  from 
me.    He  is  just  doing  this  to  intimidate  me,  I  am  sure." 

The  sound  of  footsteps  arrested  her  attention.  The 
key  grated  in  the  lock,  and  Mrs.  Jicks  entered  with  a 
tray  of  food.  Darting  a  malignantly  triumphant  glance 
at  Aphra,  she  set  the  tray  down  and  lighted  a  fresh 
wax  taper  in  the  heavily  chased  old  silver  candlestick. 

"Mr.  Westlake  sends  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  West- 
lake,  and  begs  to  know  how  she  rested,  and  says,  with 
her  permission,  he  will  wait  upon  her  in  the  morning," 
remarked  the  affable  Jicks,  in  mock  courtesy. 

Aphra  deigned  no  further  reply  than,  "Very  well." 

"I  hope  you  will  like  your  room,"  she  continued. 
"It  is  the  one  you  expressed  a  desire  to  enter  once  be- 
fore. It  is  not  as  cheerful  as  it  might  be,  still  it 
might  be  worse.  That  picture  is  a  speaking  likeness 
of  the  wife  of  the  English  lord  who  built  this  part  of 
the  house.  Poor  lady,  she  went  mad  and  killed  her- 
self in  this  very  room,  and  upon  that  very  bed." 

Mrs.  Jicks  smiled  exultantly  at  the  face  before  her. 
which  paled  visibly  at  the  intelligence.  Then  adding, 
with  a  vicious  delight  at  the  torture  she  was  inflicting: 

"This  room  has  never  been  used  since,  I  am  told. 
Her  dead  body  last  rested  on  that  bed.  Under  it  you 
can  still  see  the  blood  stain  on  the  floor,  and  in  that 
old  wardrobe  is  the  dress  she  had  on  when  she  stabbed 
herself.  All  these  long  years  these  things  have  re- 
mained the  same  in  this  room." 

Aphra  had  turned  her  white  face  to  the  window  that 
her  tormentor  might  not  see  the  horror-stricken  look 
that  came  over  it.  Forcing  herself  to  stand  with  up- 


Aphra's  Imprisonment.  IOI 

lifted  head,  she  idly  drummed  upon  the  window  cas- 
ing. 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  afraid  to  stay  here.  I  will 
bring  your  meals  to  you  every  day." 

Finding  her  victim  neither  looked  around  nor  made 
reply,  the  black-eyed  vixen  took  herself  off.  Carefully 
locking  the  door  she  returned  to  her  duties  with  a 
light  heart  and  happy  smile,  chuckling  to  herself  at 
every  step. 

„*•*-  When  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  Aphra  sank  upon 
the  floor  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  her  whole 
soul  sick  with  horror  at  the  thought  of  being  locked 
up  in  that  fateful  room,  away  from  all  sounds  of  life 
in  the  other  part  of  the  house.  She  dared  not  uncover 
her  eyes.  She  scarcely  dared  breathe.  Those  eyes  in 
the  picture  were  upon  her,  she  felt  them  burn  into  her 
very  heart. 

That  awful  wardrobe  seemed  to  her  overwrought 
nerves  to  contain  a  skeleton.  How  could  she  sleep 
upon  that  bed?  That  dark  stain  on  the  floor  was  only 
a  few  feet  away  from  her.  Oh,  God,  she  would  go 
mad,  too ! 

Long  she  sat  crouched  upon  the  floor,  thinking  over 
and  over  again  the  dreadful  tale,  her  distorted  imag- 
ination supplying  all  sorts  of  hideous  details.  Sup- 
pose, when  she  looked  up  at  that  bed,  the  lifeless 
body  of  that  lady  lay  there,  with  a  dagger  in  its  breast, 
and  the  life  blood  staining  the  white  cover  and  dripping 
down  upon  the  floor.  She  could  almost  hear  it,  drip, 
drip,  drip;  thick,  warm,  bright  blood. 

Shudder  after  shudder  passed  over  her  from  head 


102  The  Dark  Strain. 

to  foot.  Oh,  the  awfulness  of  solitude!  No  sound 
of  voice  nor  footstep ;  no  sight  of  form  nor  face  of  life ; 
no  touch  of  a  warm,  living  presence.  Then  faintly 
came  the  thought,  "Lo,  /  am  with  you  always."  Ah, 
yes,  Aphra,  He,  the  loving  Heavenly  Father  is  with 
you,  above,  beneath,  and  about  you.  What  comfort 
stole  into  her  frightened  heart !  as  kneeling  humbly 
by  that  very  bed,  with  tightly  closed  eyes,  she  prayed 
in  her  trusting,  girlish  innocence,  that  she  might  feel 
His  presence  and  realize  His  peace  and  comfort  in  her 
desolate  loneliness. 

For  a  few  moments  she  bowed  her  beautiful,  golden 
crowned  head,  just  to  feel  that  sweet  peace  and  rest- 
ful calm.  Then  rising  resolutely,  she  opened  her  eyes, 
looking  full  upon  the  bed,  and  even  beneath  it,  at  the 
dreadful  blood  stain ;  then  at  the  countess  herself, 
meeting  her  solemn,  questioning  gaze,  with  one  brave 
and  hopeful.  Determined  to  go  through  it  all  while 
she  had  strength,  she  lifted  the  candlestick  and  threw 
the  wardrobe  doors  open  wide.  No  ghastly  skeleton 
met  her  view ;  only  some  very  rich,  handsome  dresses 
and  wraps,  mouldering  with  age  and  falling  to  pieces 
with  moth. 

The  very  self-same  silver  brocade  portrayed  in  the 
picture  hung  there  among  the  others.  Gently  she 
touched  it  and  reverently  turned  it  around. 

Yes,  there  it  was,  just  above  the  short  waist,  a  slit 
cut  through  the  silk  and  dark  stains  marring  the  en- 
tire waist.  Again  she  shuddered,  and  hastily  turning 
it  from  view,  she  closed  the  doors  and  returned  to  the 
table.  The  contents  of  the  supper  tray  were  now  cold 


Aphra's  Imprisonment.  103 

and  uninviting.  She  had  no  appetite,  and  did  not  toucl 
one  mouthful. 

"I  will  not  be  afraid,"  she  said,  resolutely,  to  her- 
self. "Nothing  can  harm  me.  I  shall  not  dread  to 
sleep  there.  I  will  boldly  look  at  everything.  I  will 
not  allow  myself  to  be  frightened  at  inanimate  ob- 
jects. That  would  only  please  Mrs.  Jicks  too  well. 
She  would  be  only  too  glad  to  drive  me  insane  with 
her  stories.  She  appears  to  hate  me  for  some  reason, — 
tvKat,  I  don't  know." 

She  prepared  for  bed,  and  blowing  out  the  taper, 
crept  between  the  sheets,  where  she  lay  tremblingly, 
despite  her  brave  resolve.  For  a  long  time  she  could 
not  sleep,  but  lay  speculating  on  her  husband's  inten- 
tion concerning  her,  and  as  to  whether  the  white-haired 
woman  above  her  might  not  be  his  lawful  wife.  II 
she  could  only  get  a  letter  to  her  mother.  But  there 
seemed  to  be  no  way  of  managing  that,  with  Mrs. 
Jicks  as  her  sole  attendant.  Besides,  she  had  not  re- 
ceived a  single  letter  from  home  since  Sarah  had  been 
sent  away.  Whether  her  mother  was  too  displeased 
to  write,  or  whether  she  was  too  busily  engaged  with 
preparations  for  her  own  wedding,  which  was  to  take 
place  some  time  during  the  autumn,  she  knew;  or 
whether  her  husband  and  his  accomplice  had  appro- 
priated the  entire  correspondence,  she  could  only  con- 
jecture. 

The  next  morning  she  awoke  to  find  it  broad  day- 
light. She  looked  up  thankfully  at  the  countess,  that 
she  had  not  appeared  to  her  in  horrible  dreams,  with 
blood-stained  dress  and  dagger  wound.  Her  dream. 


104  The  Dark  Strain. 

had  been  of  home  and  her  girlhood's  happy  days. 

By  eight  o'clock  Mrs.  Jicks  came  in  with  her  break- 
fast, and  was  very  evidently  disappointed  at  finding 
her  in  such  good  spirits. 

"I  hope  you  slept  well,"  the  worthy  woman  re- 
marked, with  a  look  that  gave  the  lie  directly  to  her 
words. 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well  indeed,"  was  the  cheerful  reply. 
"The  countess  and  I  rather  like  each  other's  society," 
she  added,  gazing  frankly  at  the  pictured  face. 

Mrs.  Jicks  drew  her  black  brows  together  and  an 
ominous  light  shone  in  her  eye. 

Aphra  was  hungry  and  ate  every  mouthful  of  her 
breakfast,  partly  to  satisfy  her  hunger  and  partly  to 
fortify  herself  against  the  coming  interview  with  her 
liege  lord. 

He  shortly  appeared,  wearing,  if  possible,  a  smile 
more  bland  than  ever.  The  tips  of  his  luxuriant  mous- 
tache nearly  touched  his  ears  in  their  supreme  effort 
at  suavity. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Westlake,  how  do  you  like  your  new 
apartments  ?"  he  benevolently  inquired. 

"Very  well,  indeed,  thank  you.  I  was  always  fond 
of  antiquities." 

"Myself  excepted,  perhaps,"  with  another  smile. 

Aphra  bowed  coldly,  making  no  reply. 

"I  suppose  you  are  curious  to  know  why  you  are 
confined  in  this,  otherwise  deserted,  portion  of  the 
house." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  am  burning  with  that  desire." 

"No?     Indeed!    Being  a  woman,  that  is  strange 


Aphra's  Imprisonment.  105 

But  perhaps  your  cultured  mind  has  already  divined, 
instinctively,  the  reason." 

"I  have  not  given  any  thought,  as  to  a  reason.  In- 
deed, it  had  not  occurred  to  me  you  could  have  one." 

"No?  I  presume  in  that  case,  you  saw  nothing  sin- 
gular— not  to  say,  impolite — in  your  conduct  before 
my  guests  the  other  evening." 

"You  refer  to  my  leaving  the  room  ?" 

"I  do  refer  to  your  leaving  the  room,  also  your  man- 
nejxso  unbecoming  a  lady,  especially  a  lady  of  the 
house." 

Aphra's  brown  eyes  flashed  and  the  hot  blood 
mounted  to  her  temples. 

"Perhaps  it  was  the  manners,  or  lack  of  them,  of 
your  guests  which  caused  my  impropriety." 

"Is  it  possible,  with  all  your  social  training  by  your 
perfect  mother,  you  do  not  know  a  hostess  should  never 
allow  any  actions  on  the  part  of  her  guests  to  inter- 
fere in  any  way  with  her  self-possession?" 

"I  have  never  in  my  life  before  been  brought  into 
contact  with  that  class  of  people.  Never  has  any 
man  used  an  oath  in  my  presence.  I  have  no  code  in 
my  training  to  guide  my  conduct  in  such  a  case.  I 
act  only  by  instinct." 

"You  then  would  intimate  my  friends  are  too  com- 
mon and  vulgar  for  your  hospitality,  I  see.  Do  you 
not  know  that  when  a  woman  marries  she  takes  her 
husband's  level,  be  it  higher  or  lower  than  her  own? 
She  accepts  his  home  as  hers;  his  mode  of  living  as 
hers;  his  friends  as  hers.  It  is  not  for  a  wife  to 


106  The  Dark  Strain. 

choose  her  husband's  friends,  nor  is  it  for  her  to  slight 
or  insult  those  whom  he  chooses." 

"You  associated  with  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  New 
York,  and  were  as  much  at  home  among  them  as  I  my- 
self, far  more  so.  How  could  I  know  what  sort  of 
men  you  hob-nobbed  with  here  at  home  ?  It  is  utterl} 
impossible,  Mr.  Westlake — and  I  say  it  once  for 
all  time, — that  I  could  ever  bring  myself  down  to  that 
level,  and  treat  such  people  as  my  equals." 

She  was  unmistakably  angry  now,  and  he  looked 
down  at  her  flushed  face,  from  beneath  his  half-closed 
eyelids,  in  evident  enjoyment  of  the  situation. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Westlake,  to  cause  you  an- 
noyance and  inconvenience,  but  I  fear  I  must  do  so. 
You  are  my  wife.  You  promised  to  obey,  if  you  re- 
member— we  will  leave  the  love  and  honor  out — and  I 
intend  you  shall  keep  at  least  that  part  of  the  agree- 
ment. No  man  with  any  spirit  lets  his  wife  rule  him. 
Now  the  point  of  the  case  lies  right  here" — placing  his 
two  forefingers  together  with  great  exactness.  "You 
must  entertain  my  guests  in  a  becoming  man- 
ner. Play  for  them  anything  they  ask ;  sing  for 
them  anything  they  wish ;  dance  with  any  of  them  who 
desire  it,  take  a  hand  in  any  game  they  prefer.  In 
short,  you  must  obey  me  in  any  and  all  things  wherein 
I  demand  obedience ;  and  this,  mind  you,  without  any 
airs  and  graces;  no  scornful  face  nor  haughty  man- 
ner! a  cheerful  obedience." 

"And  if  I  refuse?"  asked  Aphra,  with  a  very  scorn- 
ful face  and  haughty  manner,  looking  him  square  in 
the  eyes. 


Aphra's  Imprisonment.  107 

"If  you  refuse,  I  shall  be  under  the  painful  necessity 
of  keeping  you  in  this  room  in  solitary  confinement — 
and  when  I  say  solitary,  I  mean  with  nothing  whatever 
to  do,  no  books  to  read,  no  work,  nor  recreation  of  any 
kind  to  take  up  your  time;  nothing  but  your  own 
thoughts  for  your  companions.  I  will  see  to  it  that 
you  remain  here  shut  off  entirely  from  the  outside 
world  until  you  do  consent,  that  is  all." 

"You  may  keep  me  here,  Mr.  Westlake,  until  I  die. 
I  will  never,  never  accede  to  your  conditions,"  she 
Cried,  blazing  with  wrath.  "I  defy  you !  Do  your  worst ! 
Murder  me  if  you  will !  I  will  never  accept  your  terms. 
Almighty  God  will  avenge  me.  I  am  not  afraid.  You 
have  my  answer,  now  go !" 

"Really,  Mrs.  Westlake,  I  never  saw  you  one-half 
so  bewitchingly  beautiful  before.  It  is  a  great  trial  to 
me  to  be  obliged  to  leave  you.  However,  I  realize  it 
is  a  case  of  Greek  meet  Greek.  I  shall  take  great  pleas- 
ure in  breaking  that  haughty  will,  that  indomitable 
pride,  and  coming  forth  more  than  conqueror.  Of 
course  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  you  mean  every 
word  you  say  now,  but  constant  dropping  will  wear 
away  a  stone;  so  I  am  not  in  the  least  discouraged. 
I  will  come  again  and  again  to  hear  your  decision  from 
time  to  time.  When  you  do  give  in  I  shall  be  only 
too  glad  to  receive  you  to  my  bosom  and  hold  no 
grudge  against  you  for  your  present  rebellion.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  highly  gratifying  to  me.  I  feared  to 
find  you  already  penitent  and  in  tears.  Such  a  vic- 
tory brings  no  glory  with  it.  Ah,  no,  my  Aphra,  I 
would  far  rather  have  the  rare  pleasure  of  conquering 


io8  The  Dark  Strain. 

you  as  you  are  now,  my  beauty.  It  adds  zest  to  the 
conflict.  Now  I  will  bid  you  au  revoir." 

Gallantly  kissing  his  finger  tips  to  the  scornful 
woman  he  made  his  retreat,  and  carefully  locking  the 
door  behind  him,  left  Aphra  to  herself,  scarcely  know- 
ing whether  or  not  she  had  been  worsted  in  the  pas- 
sage at  arms. 

"So  he  means  to  break  my  will,  does  he  ?"  she  mused. 
"He  means  to  keep  me  here  until  I  will  put  myself  on 
a  level  with  him  and  his  associates.  Well,  I  am  afraid 
I  am  doomed  to  a  life  of  imprisonment  then.  What 
would  my  darling  mother  say  if  she  knew  ?  She,  who 
always  has  been  so  very  careful  of  me,  so  particular 
lest  I  should  make  the  fatal  mistake  of  choosing  un- 
suitable companions.  To  think  of  Hester  Birney's 
daughter  being  compelled  to  play,  sing  and  dance  for 
the  amusement  of  a  set  of  low-lived,  drunken  loafers. 
Never  mind,  I  shall  not  wear  my  life  away  to  please 
Mrs.  Jicks,  no  more  than  I  shall  get  down  on  my  knees 
to  please  him.  I  shall  watch  and  wait.  Sooner  or  later 
there  must  come  an  opportunity  to  escape.  When  it 
does  I  shall  not  be  slow  in  taking  advantage  of  it." 


Bride  and  Bridegroom.  109 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BRIDE  AND  BRIDEGROOM. 
/•** 

THE  names  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Briscot  and 
maid  had  adorned  the  top  of  the  page  of  the  hotel  reg- 
ister, in  one  of  the  most  desirable  tourists'  hotels  in 
London,  for  about  two  weeks.  The  party  themselves 
were  comfortably  located  in  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the 
second  floor. 

A  quiet  home  wedding  had  taken  place  on  the  pre- 
scribed date,  and  as  previously  planned  the  newly 
wedded  pair  had  taken  passage  on  the  first  outgoing 
steamer.  The  whole  affair  would  have  been  rather 
dull  for  the  handsome,  self-possessed  bride,  notwith- 
standing all  the  social  advantages  the  union  brought 
her,  had  not  the  journey  been  enlivened  by  the  pres- 
ence of  several  American  acquaintances,  among  whom 
was  the  ubiquitous  Mrs.  Paine — on  pleasure  bent,  who 
had  taken  passage  on  the  same  steamer  for  a  European 
tour. 

These  pleasant  friends,  with  two  exceptions,  had 
bidden  au  revoir  after  a  few  days'  stay  in  London, 
and  started  for  the  continent.  One  of  the  exceptions, 
as  may  easily  be  imagined,  was  Mrs.  Paine  herself,  the 


no  The  Dark  Strain. 

other  being  in  favor  of  a  wealthy  physician,  who  looked 
after  the  pulses  and  tongues  of  a  goodly  sized  portion 
of  the  creme  of  New  York  society.  Dr.  Phillips  had 
attached  himself  to  the  Briscot  division  of  travelers, 
and  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  a  near-by  hotel,  not 
wishing  to  register  his  name  on  the  same  page  as  those 
of  his  friends,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself. 

He  was  a  tall,  handsomely  proportioned  man,  still 
on  the  sunny  side  of  fifty;  broad  shouldered  and  full 
chested,  as  well  as  full  abdomened,  of  a  sandy  com- 
plexion, just  bordering  on  the  red,  not  at  all  a  vulgar 
red,  but  a  very  artistic,  aristocratic  shade.  He  was  a 
gentleman  of  the  first  water  in  appearance,  walk  and 
conversation.  He  never  felt  the  pulse  nor  looked  at 
the  tongues  of  the  masses,  not  he.  His  list  of  pa- 
tients, whose  names  were  delicately  traced  on  the  ex- 
quisite linen  pages  of  the  gilt-edged,  gilt  lettered 
black  morocco  book,  were  only  of  the  exclusive  set. 
Being  a  ladies'  specialist,  he  was  also  something  of  a 
lady's  man — very  fond  of  feminine  society,  and  most 
courteously  attentive  to  them. 

Not  but  that  he  had  a  wife  to  be  attentive  to,  only 
that  she  was  a  nervous  invalid,  that  most  unhappy, 
most  distressing  of  all  the  lengthy  category  of  fe- 
male invalids.  Mrs.  Phillips  could  not  receive  calls 
of  more  than  seven  minutes'  duration,  and  then  from 
most  intimate  friends,  only.  She  kept  to  her  room  very 
closely,  and  did  not  even  see  much  of  her  husband. 
She  had  him  read  to  her — all  other  voices  jarred  her 
nerves — for  an  hour  in  the  morning,  after  her  ten 
o'clock  breakfast,  and  again  after  her  two  o'clock 


Bride  and  Bridegroom.  in 

luncheon.  She  was  not  able  to  converse — it  tried  her 
nerves.  She  always  retired  early,  as  late  hours  also 
tried  her  nerves. 

The  doctor  had  induced  her  to  try  an  ocean  trip  as 
a  sort  of  nerve  bracer.  After  much  hesitation  and  with 
many  misgivings  she  had  given  her  dubious  consent. 
By  lucky  chance  they  happened  to  secure  passage  in 
the  same  steamer  with  the  newly  wedded  Briscots. 

Dr.  Phillips  had  met  the  charming  Mrs.  Birney  in 
society.  Their  acquaintance  had  been  most  pleasantly 
renewed  and  widened  by  meeting  again  at  the  seashore, 
where  Mrs.  Birney  had  spent  nearly  the  last  weeks  of 
her  widowhood.  He  was  charmed  by  the  handsome 
face  and  figure,  no  less  than  by  the  winning  manner 
and  abundant  conversational  resources  of  the  lovely 
widow.  Increased  knowledge  of  her  only  deepened 
his  admiration,  until  he  had  been  only  too  glad  to 
follow  her  across  the  ocean  to  further  foster  their 
purely  platonic  friendship. 

What  of  Mrs.  Briscot?  She  turned  instinctively  to 
the  cultured  physician  for  appreciation  and  praise,  as 
the  lily  unfolds  itself  to  the  sun.  The  cold,  dark, 
homely,  common  earth  may  feed  its  roots,  giving  it 
life,  yet  it  never  looks  in  that  direction,  but  rears  its 
stately  chalice  to  bask  in  the  warm,  golden  beam  of 
the  sun-god.  She  had  married  James  Briscot,  plain, 
dark,  common  man  as  he  was,  simply  for  his  wealth. 
In  allowing  him  to  call  her  wife,  to  be  a  husband  to 
her,  she  was  amply  rewarding  him  for  the  wealth  he 
lavished  on  her.  He  needed  no  further  demonstra- 
tion, or  at  least  got  none. 


ii2  The  Dark  Strain. 

Dr.  Phillips  was  a  well-bred  gentleman.  With  him 
she  could  talk  at  ease.  He  understood  her  so  thor- 
oughly. They  were  so  very  congenial.  Also,  she 
was  doing  a  great  kindness  to  the  doctor  himself.  His 
wife  being  so  much  of  an  invalid,  he  had  no  amuse- 
ment, no  pleasure  in  her  society.  He  was  dull  and 
lonely.  She  was  really  doing  an  act  of  charity  in  en- 
tertaining him.  Left  alone  to  himself,  he  would  cer- 
tainly drift  into  evil  ways,  drinking,  gambling,  etc.  At 
the  same  time  she  was  only  doing  justice  to  herself. 
She  was  lonely.  Her  husband  was  uncongenial,  al- 
though a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  upright  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  Still  they  had  not  one  taste  in  common. 
Was  it  not  her  due,  after  sacrificing  herself  to  James 
Briscot — his  very  name  sounded  beefy  to  her — to  oro- 
vide  herself  with  suitable  diversion  ? 

Thus  Hester  Briscot  reasoned  within  herself  and 
hushed  the  qualms  of  conscience.  Her  husband  had 
been  able,  fortunately,  to  combine  business  with  pleas- 
ure in  this  European  trip,  consequently  he  was  occa- 
sionally absent  for  two  or  three  days  at  a  time,  al- 
ready looking  after  the  English  and  Continental  inter- 
ests of  his  affairs.  Needless  to  add,  during  these  ab- 
sences, Dr.  Phillips  took  it  upon  himself  to  insure 
against  any  loneliness  on  Mrs.  Briscot's  part,  by  calling 
on  her  each  morning  and  afternoon,  after  his  reading 
lessons,  also  spending  each  evening  in  her  company. 

Sometimes  they  traveled  about  the  city  sight-seeing 
and  visiting  places  of  amusement,  sometimes  they  sat 
in  the  little  Briscot  parlor  enjoying  a  quiet  rubber, 
sometimes  they  strolled  out  on  the  balcony  in  the 


Bride  and  Bridegroom.  113 

moonlight,  to  overlook  life  in  the  great  city  and  si- 
lently enjoy  the  delights  of  platonicism. 

There  were  three  pairs  of  eyes  all  eagerly  directed 
toward  this  platonic  pair.  Did  not  Mr*.  Briscot  note 
their  growing  friendship?  Did  he  not  see  the  flower- 
scented  paths  his  dearly  loved,  beautiful  wife  was  trav- 
eling, hand  in  hand  with  another?  Did  no  warning 
voice  whisper  in  his  ear,  "Except  ye  abide  in  the  ship, 
these  cannot  be  saved!" 

fih,  yes,  he  saw  it,  or  at  least  a  part  of  it.  He  saw 
the  friendship  and  had  his  misgivings  as  to  its  prob- 
able outcome,  even  in  those  three  short  weeks.  Still 
he  trusted  in  the  honor  and  pride  of  his  wife,  and  the 
honor  and  pride  of  Dr.  Phillips,  who  professed  a 
warm  friendship  for  himself.  He  knew  his  bride  had 
not  given  him  her  heart,  when  she  bestowed  her  hand 
upon  him ;  but  it  was  no  wonder.  She  was  a  regally 
beautiful  woman ;  he  a  very  plain  man.  She  knew  just 
what  to  say  and  how  to  say  it,  he  could  scarcely  speak 
a  half  dozen  sentences  without  a  blunder.  She  was  as 
thoroughly  at  home  in  society  as  a  trout  in  a  deep 
lake;  he  was  as  much  out  of  his  element  as  the  same 
fish  would  be  in  the  desert  of  Sahara. 

Not  one  whit  did  he  blame  her  for  enjoying  the  doc- 
tor's society.  It  was  only  her  natural  element.  He 
could  not  expect  her  to  love  such  an  uncouth,  blunder- 
ing fellow  as  he.  He  would  go  on  loving  her  in  his 
own  quiet,  manly  way,  and  leave  his  precious  honor 
in  her  own  dear  hands. 

The  other  pair  of  eyes  were  hardly  so  lenient,  so 
kindly  disposed  toward  Hester.  One  pair  which  were 


ii4  The  Dark  Strain. 

closely  watching  her  and  her  platonic  love,  were  none 
other  than  the  sloe-black  eyes  of  Sarah.  Sleuth-like 
she  watched  her  mistress'  every  move,  especially  in 
Mr.  Briscot's  absence,  with  steadily  growing,  sullen 
jealousy.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  that  although  Sarah 
loved  Aphra  with  all  the  devotion  of  which  she  was 
capable,  she  had  never  really  been  fond  of  Hester,  de- 
spite the  years  she  had  been  in  her  service,  and  the 
fact  of  her  being  brought  up  in  the  family.  Sarah 
would  take  her  mistress'  part  readily  enough,  against 
any  one  else,  and  defend  her  to  the  bitter  end ;  but  she 
always  had  been  jealous  of  her. 

She  was  jealous  of  her  handsome  face  and  white 
skin ;  of  her  perfect  figure ;  of  the  admiration  she  at- 
tracted; of  her  position  in  society;  in  short  of  every 
charm  that  lady  possessed.  Sarah  could  never  un- 
derstand why  her  mistress  should  be  so  highly  fa- 
vored, and  she  doomed  to  a  life  of  service  which 
galled  her  to  the  quick.  She  knew  her  mistress  feared 
her  because  of  her  knowledge  of  the  family  secret,  so 
she  delighted  in  keeping  her  on  the  tenter  hooks,  and 
force  her  to  continually  make  concession  to  her. 

Had  any  one  told  Hester  Briscot  of  Sarah's  secret 
enmity  she  would  not  for  one  instant  have  credited  it. 
She  knew  Sarah  was  peculiar  in  many  ways,  and  often 
threatened  to  make  unpleasant  disclosures,  but  in  her 
heart  she  really  did  not  believe  Sarah  meant  what  she 
said ;  nor  that  she  would  ever  carry  any  of  her  dire 
threats  into  execution.  She  trusted  her  implicitly, 
never  frying  to  hide  anything  of  Dr.  Phillips'  atten- 


Bride  and  Bridegroom.  115 

tions  from  her,  and  making  her  more  of  a  friend  than  a 
servant. 

One  evening  when  Mr.  Briscot  had  returned  unex- 
pectedly from  a  business  trip,  Sarah  was  not  aware  of 
his  presence  until  Mrs.  Briscot  entered  her  room,  say- 
ing :  "Sarah,  I  am  going  to  be  very  good  to-night  and 
go  to  bed  early.  It  is  only  ten  o'clock." 

"Well,  it's  the  first  time  since  Mr.  Briscot  went 
away  that  you  have  come  to  bed  at  that  houah.  It's 
a  wpndah  Dr.  Phillips  went  home  so  early,"  was 
Sarah's  ungracious  response.  "You  always " 

On  looking  up  she  saw  Mr.  Briscot  standing  directly 
behind  his  wife.  An  uncomfortable  silence  fell  upon 
them. 

"Pray,  Sarah,  what  time  does  she  come  to  bed  then  ?" 
he  asked  with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness. 

She  made  no  reply,  and  promptly  retired  to  her 
room,  leaving  her  mistress  to  explain  her  way  out  of 
the  dilemma  as  best  bhe  could.  Mr.  Briscot  did  not 
refer  again  to  the  subject ;  nevertheless,  his  wife  felt 
most  uncomfortably  certain  he  would  have  liked  to 
hear  the  remainder  of  Sarah's  declaration. 

In  the  morning  Mrs.  Briscot  brought  her  maid  to 
book. 

"Sarah,  how  could  you  answer  me  in  that  way  be- 
fore Mr.  Briscot.  Don't  you  know  the  Bible  says, 
'Blessed  are  the  peacemakers.'  " 

"I'm  not  a  peace  breakuh,  am  I  ?  I  didn't  give  him 
his  ansah,  but  I  may  yet." 

"Indeed,  Sarah,  I  hope  you  will  do  nothing  of  the 


u6  The  Dark  Strain. 

kind.  You  would  not  be  guilty  of  creating  a  disturb- 
ance between  husband  and  wife,  would  you?" 

"There's  some  things  that  ought  to  be  told,  I  think. 
You  know  Dr.  Phillips  was  ovah  heah  three  times 
every  day  Mr.  Briscot  was  away,  and  you  nevah  come 
to  youah  room  one  single  night  befoah  half-past  eleven. 
I  don't  call  that  right.  He  has  a  wife  of  his  own, 
why  don't  he  stay  with  huh?" 

"Sarah !  How  you  talk !  Surely  you  know  there  is 
nothing  secret  between  Dr.  Phillips  and  me.  He  is 
simply  my  friend,  the  same  as  any  of  my  lady  friends. 
We  talk  just  the  same  as  I  do  with  any  other  friend. 
My  conscience  is  perfectly  clear  of  any  wrong." 

"You  may  look  at  it  that  way  if  you  choose,  but 
that  is  no  saying  that  everybody  else  will.  You  may 
see  no  hahm  in  it,  but  othuh  folks  might." 

"I  know  the  world  is  very  censorious,  Sarah,  and 
very  apt  to  misjudge  one's  purest  motives,  but  with 
my  own  conscience  acquitting  me,  I  do  not  care  what 
the  world  thinks  of  me,  nor  what  it  says  of  me  in  this 
matter." 

Sarah  tossed  her  head  in  defiance,  silenced  but  by 
no  means  convinced.  Not  that  she  particularly  cared 
whether  her  mistress  acted  imprudently  with  Dr.  Phil- 
lips, only  that  she  was  jealous  of  that  secret  power 
and  charm  of  which  she  herself  was  so  destitute. 

"She's  no  bettah  than  I  am.  Why  should  she  have 
all  those  fine  dresses  and  jewelry  and  be  so  white 
skinned  and  handsome,  and  have  all  the  men  dangling 
aftah  huh  like  that,  and  I  have  none  of  them?  Huh 
skin  and  shape  is  all  the  difference.  Why  warn't  I 


Bride  and  Bridegroom.  117 

boan  with  the  white  skin  and  she  with  the  black  one?" 
soliloquized  the  sullen  wench. 

Not  only  was  Sarah  jealously  eyeing  her  mistress, 
but  the  youthful  Mrs.  Paine  was  scarcely  less  vigilant. 
She,  too,  was  jealous  of  Dr.  Phillips'  attention  to  Mrs. 
Briscot.  She  claimed  the  prior  acquaintance,  and  had 
long  sought  his  favor.  She  was  furious  at  being  cut 
out  by  that  "skinny  little  hussy,"  as  she  mentally  styled 
her  rival  in  contrast  to  her  own  embonpoint  form. 
Outwardly  she  was  sweetly  pleasant  to  both  Mrs.  Bris- 
cot and  the  doctor.  She  tried  her  level  best  to  watch 
them  when  they  imagined  themselves  alone.  She 
bribed  a  chambermaid  to  let  her  occupy  a  room  over- 
looking the  little  moonlit  balcony  and  sat  with  her 
grizzled  head  out  of  the  open  window,  shivering  with 
the  cold,  in  hopes  of  catching  some  stray  word  or 
gesture  wherewith  she  could  denounce  the  guilty  pair. 

But  when  she  crossed  words  with  Hester  Briscot 
she  did  not  measure  her  opponent's  skill.  Never  for 
one  moment  did  Hester  allow  Mrs.  Paine  to  suspect 
that  she  knew  of  her  rivalry.  She  was  quite  as  sweet 
as  the  writer,  and  even  a  trifle  more  so,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible. Yet  Mrs.  Briscot  knew  every  time  that  the  win- 
dow above  was  raised  by  even  so  much  as  one  inch, 
and  to  further  torment  the  jealous  listener  the  con- 
versation was  carried  on  in  an  undertone,  yet  not  a 
word  was  said  that  might  not  have  been  screamed  from 
the  housetops. 

Mrs.  Paine  would  sometimes  very  innocently  invite 
Mrs.  Briscot  to  spend  the  evening  with  her.  Hester 
always  accepted  with  alacrity.  Then  would,  as  usual, 


n8  The  Dark  Strain. 

entertain  Dr.  Phillips.  When  she  would  encounter 
Mrs.  Paine  in  the  hallway  on  her  way  to  retiring  about 
eleven  o'clock  or  a  little  later  she  would  say  most 
sweetly : 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Paine,  why  didn't  you  come  down? 
I  waited  for  you  so  long." 

"I  was  waiting  for  you  in  my  suite  till  I  decided 
you  were  not  coming,  after  all." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry.  I  understood  you  to  say  you 
would  come  down  for  me,  and  here  I  have  been  wait- 
ing the  whole  evening.  I  am  so  sorry.  Come  into  my 
rooms  and  I  will  send  for  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some 
cakes  and  patty." 

This  sort  of  an  invitation  Mrs.  Paine  could  never 
resist,  so  the  volcano  would  be  smothered  up  for  an- 
other day.  It  was  the  height  of  the  wicked  Hester's 
ambition  to  lay  her  rival  up  with  a  touch  of  the  gout, 
in  order  to  make  her  suffer  more  keenly  the  maddening 
pangs  of  the  green-eyed  monster. 

Mrs.  Briscot  had  wondered  all  this  time  why  she 
never  heard  from  Aphra;  but  had  consoled  herself 
at  first  with  the  thought  that  perhaps  Aphra  felt  so 
badly  about  Sarah's  being  sent  away  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  write  just  yet.  Since  she  had  left 
America  she  had  scarcely  expected  any  mail  to  reach 
her  at  all  promptly.  By  and  by  the  letter  would  come, 
then  she  would  know  all  about  her  daughter. 

To  tell  the  truth,  she  had  been  so  taken  up  with  Dr. 
Phillips'  charming  society,  she  had  thought  less  and 
less  of  her  child's  unhappy  marriage.  She  looked  so 
philosophically  at  her  own  loveless  union,  and  was  en- 


Bride  and  Bridegroom.  119 

joying  herself  most  thoroughly  despite  it,  it  never 
occurred  to  her  that  her  daughter  might  be  much  less 
contented  than  herself.  To  do  Mrs.  Briscot  justice 
she  would  have  been  terrified  had  she  known  of 
Aphra's  sorry  predicament.  Still  she  would  be  power- 
less to  force  Mr.  Westlake  to  release  his  wife.  She 
could  have  pleaded  with  him,  it  is  true.  Had  this  proved 
futile  she  would  have  been  obliged  to  give  up,  as  that 
horrible  secret  stood  in  the  way  like  some  terrible 
nightmare.  She  had  given  her  daughter  to  Mr.  West- 
lake' as  the  price  of  his  silence,  and  could  not  control 
his  actions  toward  her.  It  was  well,  all  things  con- 
sidered, she  did  not  know  of  Aphra's  trouble. 


120  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE      GREYDONS. 

IN  the  famous  old  Quaker  City  of  Philadelphia  lived 
the  Greydon  family,  in  very  select  retirement.  Mrs. 
Greydon,  who  was  the  only  sister  of  Mr.  Harmon 
Westlake,  had  inherited  the  whole  supply  of  family 
pride — this  accounts  for  her  brother's  lamentable  lack 
of  it. 

She  had  married  into  the  grand  old  Greydon  family, 
preferring  genteel  poverty  to  vulgar  prosperity.  All 
her  life  she  had  pinched  and  scrimped  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances. Left  a  widow  with  three  growing  children 
on  her  hands,  her  misfortunes  and  privations  had  ma- 
terially increased. 

She  had  struggled  along  on  her  eight  hundred  dol- 
lar income,  making  it  do  duty  for  twice  that  amount 
— keeping  one  general  servant,  while  she  and  her 
daughters  performed  the  less  menial  tasks  of  the  house- 
hold, at  the  same  time  never  departing  one  iota  from 
their  rigid  respectability.  Her  eldest  daughter,  Thur- 
za,  was  a  fair  copy  of  her  mother ;  both  had  the  same 
aquiline  noses  and  thin  sharp  features.  She  fully 
shared  her  mother's  feelings  respecting  the  sacredness 


The  Greydons.  121 

of  birth  and  family  pride,  and  was  her  able  assistant  in 
all  matters  appertaining  thereto.  This  daughter  was 
a  source  of  great  comfort  to  the  mother,  and  in  a  cer- 
tain degree  made  up  to  her  the  annoyance  she  suf- 
fered by  the  perversity  of  her  two  younger  children, 
who  were — at  least  so  Thurza  and  her  mother  re- 
marked at  least  twenty  times  every  day — entirely  des- 
titute of  reverence  for  the  household  god — family 
pride. 

Indeed,  Grace,  the  youngest  of  the  family,  a  plump, 
rosy?-violet-eyed,  brown-haired  girl  of  twenty,  had  so 
outraged  this  deity  as  to  bestow  her  affections  upon — 
Oh,  horrors!  A  butcher!  Mrs.  Greydon  had  fainted 
outright  when  she  first  learned  of  this  humiliating 
state  of  affairs.  While  Thurza  was  so  inexpressibly 
shocked,  she  had  applied  a  cayenne  pepper  cruet  to  her 
maternal  parent's  patrician  proboscis,  in  mistake  for 
the  viniagrette. 

The  butcher  was  young  and  fine-looking,  however, 
besides  being  possessed  of  ample  means,  which  in- 
cluded a  dear  little  love  of  a  woodbine  cottage.  So 
Grace  quietly  adhered  to  her  decision,  although  obliged 
to  bide  her  time  for  a  chance  to  slip  off  the  galling 
yoke  of  idol  worship  and  assume  the  saw  and  cleaver 
as  a  coat  of  arms. 

She  was  not  wholly  unsupported  in  her  position, 
since  Frank,  her  only  brother,  older  by  four  years, 
had  always  stood  as  champion  and  knight  errant  to 
his  little  sister  since  the  violet  eyes  had  first  opened 
to  the  light  of  day.  He  looked  enough  like  Grace  to 
be  her  twin,  having  the  same  violet  eyes  and  chest- 


122  The  Dark  Strain. 

nut  locks,  save  that  he  was  slim  and  lithe  and  strong. 
Frank  was  also  under  a  ban  of  special  displeasure 
from  his  mother  and  Thurza,  not  because  of  any  de- 
grading entanglement,  simply  because  he  wanted  to 
work  and  earn  money  to  increase  the  limited  means. 

He  had  begged  and  prayed  his  much  tried  parent 
to  consent  to  his  accepting  a  position  as  bookkeeper 
in  a  large  wholesale  house.  His  pleading  only  brought 
forth  such  floods  of  tears,  such  heartbroken  repin- 
ings,  such  touching  reproaches,  he  had  given  up  the 
idea  in  sheer  despair.  Although  he  had  reluctantly 
given  up  that  cherished  hope,  he  did  not  cease  to  plan 
some  way  to  earn  something,  even  should  he  be  com- 
pelled to  do  it  on  the  sly.  Finally  he  hit  upon  the 
idea  of  doing  some  copying  at  home,  in  his  room. 
Acting  immediately  on  the  strength  of  it,  he  had 
sought  out  the  old  family  solicitor  and  obtained  the 
coveted  employment,  binding  the  old  gentleman  over 
to  strict  secrecy. 

For  nearly  a  year  he  had  worked  faithfully,  and 
many  a  dollar  had  found  its  way  into  the  family  treas- 
ury in  addition  to  the  greatly  diminished  drafts  upon 
that  strong  box  of  both  himself  and  Grace.  Mrs. 
Greydon  and  Thurza  both  knew  he  was  quietly  earn- 
ing money,  but  after  a  family  council — composed  of 
themselves  and  the  idol — had  decided  to  say  nothing 
to  him  about  it  so  long  as  the  disgraceful  and  ob- 
noxious employment  did  not  obtrude  itself  on  their 
sacred  vision. 

Now  the  whole  thing  had  come  out  in  the  glaring 
light  of  day,  and  matters  were  brought  to  a  crisis. 


The  Greydons.  123 

Thurza  had  actually  seen  her  brother  standing  on  the 
steps  of  the  lawyer's  office,  with  that  good  gentleman; 
had  seen  Frank  hand  the  lawyer  a  bundle  of  papers ; 
had  seen  that  worthy  man  actually  pay  Frank  the 
money  for  his  work!  Oh,  horrors!  Would  she  ever 
get  that  degrading  sight  out  of  her  mind's  eye ! 

Frank  had  casually  met  the  lawyer  just  in  the  act 
of  closing  his  office,  and  had  handed  him  the  work, 
whereupon  the  lawyer  had  insisted  on  paying  him  at 
once.  Thus  it  happened  that  Thurza  saw  the  whole 
affair*  Hurrying  home  she  informed  her  mother  of 
the  awful  fall  of  family  pride.  No  longer  could  they 
blind  their  eyes  to  the  state  of  affairs.  No  longer 
could  they  calmly  close  those  orbs  as  the  dollars  slipped 
into  the  strong  box,  or  new  hats  and  gloves  magically 
appeared  on  the  person  of  the  youngest  member  of 
the  family.  No  longer  could  they  wink  at  the  ex- 
cuses Frank  made  for  remaining  so  much  in  his  room. 
No  longer  could  they  enter  that  room  blindfolded 
lest  some  sign  of  the  secret  labor  should  pollute  their 
chaste  vision. 

When  the  unfortunate  young  fellow  arrived  home 
he  was  met  by  such  a  tempest  of  tears,  reproaches  and 
repinings  as  nearly  took  him  off  his  feet.  Thurza  stood 
by  her  afflicted  mother's  chair,  smelling  salts  in  hand, 
lending  her  mental,  moral  and  physical  support,  while 
Mrs.  Greydon  wept,  reproached  and  repined  by  turns. 

"You  and  Grace  will  be  my  death,  I  feel  sure  of  it. 
My  grey  hair  will  be  brought  down  with  -disgrace  to 
the  grave" — changing  the  prediction  a  trifle  so  as  to 
suit  the  case  better — "How  can  you  stab  me  so  cruelly, 


124  The  Dark  Strain. 

so  willfully?  When  you  look  upon  my  cold  face  in  my 
coffin  I  hope  you  will  think  of  your  unfilial  conduct. 
You  know  how  wealthy  your  Uncle  Harmon  is.  You 
have  only  to  wait  until  his  death  to  be  independent. 
He  is  an  old  man,  and  cannot,  in  any  reason,  live 
much  longer.  Can  you  not  possess  your  soul  in  pa- 
tience until  the  time  comes?  We  have  always  lived 
comfortably,  though  carefully.  If  we  have  had  enough 
we  will  continue  to  have.  I  had  rather  live  on  one 
meal  a  day  than  endure  the  torture  of  knowing  one  of 
my  children  labored" — she  could  only  just  gasp  out 
the  terrible  word — "for  his  sustenance." 

"Mother,  darling,  you  know  I  would  not  willfully 
cause  you  to  shed  a  single  tear.  But  I  feel  such  a 
great,  lazy  fellow  living  here  in  idleness  on  your  slen- 
der income.  I  did  not  mean  any  harm  by  it,  and  it  has 
helped  you  so  much,  I  know.  I  felt  like  kicking  my- 
self for  being  such  a  despicable  cur.  I  could  not  help 
doing  something.  Uncle  may  live  years  yet  and  may 
not  leave  us  as  much  as  you  think  he  will.  You  know 
he  does  not  like  us.  Besides,  it  is  such  a  craven  thing 
for  such  a  strong,  young  fellow  as  I  am,  to  be  loung- 
ing around,  waiting  for  a  dead  man's  shoes.  I  would 
far  rather  peddle  potatoes  through  the  streets." 

"Or  meat,"  whispered  Grace,  slyly,  from  behind 
him,  where  she  generally  took  up  her  shelter  during  a 
domestic  squall. 

Mrs.  Greydon  fell  back  in  her  chair  fairly  gasping 
for  breath.  • 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  she  feebly  murmured,  faintly  wav- 
ing her  hand.  "Call  yourself  all  the  vile  epithets  in 


The  Greydons.  125 

the  vocabulary  for  doing  as  I  wish  you  to.  Exonerate 
your  unfilial  conduct  by  all  the  arguments  you  can. 
It  is  the  only  pay  a  mother  can  expect,  after  such  a 
life  of  sacrifice  as  I  have  lived.  Stab  me  while  you 
can.  I  will  soon  be  done  with  life  and  out  of  your 
way.  Perhaps  when  you  press  your  last  kiss  upon 
my  cold  face  you  will  think  of  this  bitter  humiliation 
you  have  caused  me  to  suffer.  I  can  never  hold  up  my 
head  again,  never  again." 

"Oh,  mamma !  Don't  talk  like  that !  Please  don't. 
Frank  is  almost  m  tears  !"  pleaded  Grace,  moved  by  the 
sight  of  her  brother's  distress. 

"Oh,  no,  Grace ;  I  must  not  allow  my  feelings  to 
control  me,  for  fear  your  brother  shall  regret  the  woe 
he  has  caused.  You  are  as  dutiful  a  child  as  he.  You 
have  already  done  all  you  can  to  break  my  heart  and 
crush  my  pride ;  you  can  well  uphold  him.  But  let  me 
tell  you,  my  children,  all  your  combined  efforts  will 
never  accomplish  that.  My  pride  was  born  with  me, 
and  can  only  be  laid  low  when  I  lose  my  feeble  grasp 
on  earthly  things.  As  for  your  uncle  not  leaving  us 
as  much  as  I  think  he  may,  as  you  would  intimate, 
Frank ;  may  I  ask,  pray,  to  whom  else  could  he  leave 
it,  when  we  are  his  sole  living  relatives?" 

"I  don't  know,  mother,  I  am  sure.  Only  I  think  it 
is  not  best  to  put  too  much  dependence  on  getting  all 
his  money.  He  might  leave  it  all  to  Mrs.  Jicks  for  all 
I  know.  I  think  he  likes  her  better  than  he  does  us." 

"Mrs.  Jicks  is  a  vulgar  creature.  It  is  to  be  greatly 
deplored  that  your  uncle  is  so  attached  to  her  as  to 
let  her  have  entire  rule  and  control  of  his  house.  How 


126  The  Dark  Strain. 

very  nice  it  would  be  for  us,  and  very  proper  in  him 
as  well,  for  him  to  invite  us  there  to  spend  the  win- 
ter," added  the  afflicted  woman,  drying  her  eyes.  "It 
has  always  been  a  great  source  of  mortification  to  me 
your  uncle  being  so  vulgar  in  his  tastes.  He  is  a  gen- 
tleman by  birth  and  training,  and  a  very  plebeian  in 
all  things  else." 

"He  has  made  a  deal  of  money,  just  the  same," 
replied  her  degenerate  son. 

"He  never  worked  for  it,  though,  by  writing  or 
selling  meat.  He  got  it  all  by  speculation,"  retorted 
Thurza. 

"Is  that  any  more  honorable  employment  than  either 
copying  or  selling  meat?"  demanded  Grace,  laugh- 
ingly. "I  don't  know  but  that  I  would  rather  have 
my  coat-of-arms  adorned  with  a  saw  and  cleaver  than 
bulls  and  bears.  Perhaps  people  would  confound  the 
two!,  as  either  would  make  a  good  butcher  sign,"  the 
violet  eyes  twinkled  roguishly. 

"Grace,  for  pity  sake,  do  cease  such  vulgar  conver- 
sation," chimed  in  Mrs.  Greydon,  peevishly. 

"All  right,  mamma,  dear,  just  as  you  say ;  but  I  shall 
have  to  talk  of  nothing  else  but  steaks,  chops,  roasts, 
saws  and  cleavers,  by  and  by.  Maybe  I  shall  even  dis- 
cuss the  merits  of  stews  and  soup  bones." 

"Please,  Grace,  do  not  say  'all  right,'  very  well 
sounds  so  much  better." 

"Very  well,  mamma,  I  will  try  my  level  best  to 
please  you  while  I  am  with  you,"  dutifully  responded 
Grace. 


The  Greydons.  127 

"There,  you  have  not  improved  it  much ;  'level  best' 
is  no  better." 

"Excuse  me,  dearest,  you  know  I  mean  all  ri , 

no,  I  mean  very  well,  or  at  least  my  intentions  are 
of  the  very  best,  if  I  do  make  mistakes.  You  know 
mistakes — like  accidents — will  occur  even  in  the  best 
regulated  families,"  laughed  the  happy  Grace,  softly 
pinching  her  mother's  faded  cheek  and  leaving  a  but- 
terfly kiss  on  her  forehead. 

The  family  conclave  broke  up,  Grace  and  her 
darling  brother  sauntering  out  of  the  room  are  in  arm, 
leaving  Thurza  to  complete  the  work  of  restoring  her 
mother  to  her  usual  peace  of  mind. 

"If  those  two  unfortunate  children  only  had  some 
of  our  spirit,  Thurza,  what  a  different  household  this 
would  be!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greydon,  looking  after  the 
pair  of  reprobates  with  a  tearful  sigh.  "I  never  could 
understand  why  the  Great  Omnipotent  should  have 
deemed  it  necessary  to  so  afflict  me,  as  to  have  caused 
me  to  bear  two  such  children,  so  very  lacking  in  proper 
pride." 

"I  do  not  think  Frank  would  be  nearly  so  obstinate 
were  it  not  for  Grace.  She  is  so  headstrong  and  has 
such  an  influence  over  him.  She  can  lead  him  any- 
where or  into  anything.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt 
she  aided  and  abetted  him  in  obtaining  that  odious 
copying.  She  has  wanted  something  new  and  he  has 
just  set  about  getting  it  for  her.  That  is  just  the  way 
it  commenced,  I  feel  sure." 

"We  will  miss  the  little  supplements  to  the  funds," 
sighed  the  mother.  "If  we  could  only  have  gone  on 


128  The  Dark  Strain. 

without  knowing  where  it  came  from  or  how  it  wa? 
obtained.  Now  there  must  be  an  end  of  it  all.  Don't 
you  think,  Thurza,  we  had  better  send  Frank  to  Oak- 
lawn  for  a  visit?  That  will  rid  him  of  some  of  his 
ideas  for  the  present  at  least.  Harmon  tolerates  him 
with  much  better  grace  than  either  of  us,  and  his 
going  there  might  be  the  means  of  Harmon's  making 
a  little  present  to  me." 

"Very  likely  Frank  will  tell  him  of  his  escapade, 
and  Uncle  Harmon  would  give  him  something  for  so 
cleverly  outwitting  us.  I  think  that  much  more  prob- 
able. You  know  Uncle  Harmon  has  not  much  love 
for  either  of  us.  Frank  and  Grace  are  his  favorites, 
if  he  has  any." 

"You  are  right,  my  dear.  I  am  well  aware  of  the 
feelings  my  brother  entertains  for  me.  There  is  no 
humiliation  nor  degradation  he  would  not  subject  me 
to  if  it  lay  in  his  power.  However,  we  are  obliged 
to  keep  as  far  in  his  favor  as  we  can.  I  think  it  would 
be  a  stroke  of  good  policy  just  at  present  to  send 
Frank  down  there  for  a  few  weeks." 

"If  Frank  were  at  all  diplomatic  he  could  secure 
an  invitation  for  all  of  us.  Of  course,  that  is  out  of 
the  question.  We  must  wait  until  Uncle  Harmon  dies, 
then  we  can  come  out  in  our  true  colors  for  the  first 
time  in  our  lives.  I  long  to  see  you,  mother,  in  a 
rich,  black  silk  velvet  trimmed  with  real  lace  and  pearl 
ornaments.  I  will  have  rubies  myself  and  emeralds. 
One  of  my  gowns  shall  be  a  deep  red  velvet.  I  have 
had  that  costume  before  my  mental  vision  for  ten 
years.  If  Grace  would  only  give  up  that  bore  of  a 


The  Greydons.  129 

butcher,  she  might  have  a  blue  velvet  gown  and  a  set 
of  opals.  Or  if  she  were  determined  to  marry,  she 
could  wed  a  gentleman  and  have  a  bridal  robe  of 
white  satin.  As  it  is,  she  will  have  to  be  married  in 
nothing  more  expensive  than  organdy  and  not  even 
cheap  silk  at  that.  Just  think  of  it,  mother,  we  shall 
ride  in  our  own  carriage  and  pair — or  four,  for  that 
matter,  if  we  want  to;  keep  six  servants  in  place  of 
one ;  have  a  town  residence,  as  well  as  Oaklawn ;  wear 
the  most  handsome  gowns  and  costly  jewels,  in  short, 
have  everything  money  can  buy,"  concluded  Thurza, 
Enthusiastically. 

"It  does  seem  too  good  to  come  true,  and  it  is  a 
long  time  in  coming,"  mused  Mrs.  Greydon,  looking 
ruefully  around  the  little  room,  with  its  prim,  stiff- 
backed  furniture,  which  time  could  not  rob  of  its 
aristocratic  bearing.  Each  individual  piece  seemed 
charged  with  family  pride.  The  stuffed  chairs  swelled 
pompously  with  it;  the  straight  backs,  hardened  and 
stiffened  by  it ;  the  sofa  presented  a  broad,  smiling 
expanse  of  it,  notwithstanding  the  loss  of  one  castor, 
but  supported  the  short  member  by  propping  itself  up 
against  the  door  frame.  The  very  carpet  seemed  to 
draw  up  as  though  to  protect  itself  against  a  plebeian 
footstep,  and  the  portraits  on  the  wall  each  assumed 
an  expression  of  horror  at  the  very  mention  of  toil, 
while  each  pair  of  painted  lips — not,  of  course,  pre- 
suming to  intimate  that  the  lips  of  the  originals  were 
painted — seemed  to  form  the  word — "shocking!"  Just 
imagine  the  condition  of  those  chairs,  sofa,  carpet  and 


130  The  Dark  Strain. 

portraits  when  Grace's  butcher  called  upon  his  sweet- 
heart ! 

Frank  was  duly  informed  of  his  projected  visit  to 
Oaklawn.  Thinking  it  might  be  the  easiest  way  out 
of  his  dilemma,  or  possibly  to  atone  for  bringing  such 
an  overwhelming  disgrace  on  the  family,  or  perhaps 
because  he  did  not  dare  to  frustrate  any  more  of  his 
mother's  plans,  he  consented  and  set  about  his  prep- 
arations at  once.  His  chief  regret  in  going  was  being 
obliged  to  leave  Grace  behind.  About  once  or  twice 
each  year  he  was  sent  upon  these  visits,  always  in 
hopes  of  keeping  the  family  more  clearly  in  the  mind 
of  the  wealthy  bachelor  uncle  and  of  receiving  "a 
little  present"  to  augment  the  family  income. 

So  far  as  this  latter  hope  was  concerned,  the  visits 
had  heretofore  been  dismal  failures.  Mr.  Westlake 
would  very  generously  present  his  nephew  with  his 
railway  fare  home,  but  considered  his  hospitality  suf- 
ficient for  the  rest.  Harmon  Westlake  was  well  aware 
of  his  sister's  poverty  and  of  her  pride  as  well.  He 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  alleviating  the  one 
nor  gratifying  the  other.  Nothing  pleased  him  better 
than  doing  something  to  wound  and  shock  their  house- 
hold god. 

Even  now,  while  the  innocent  family  were  preparing 
to  further  their  harmless  design  upon  him,  he  was 
preparing  a  death  blow  to  all  their  cherished  hopes, 
and  what  was  far  worse — in  their  estimation  at  least 
— a  withering,  blighting  breath  of  scandal  that  would 
blast  every  remnant  of  pride  in  the  entire  family. 


Frank  at  Oaklawn.  131 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FRANK   AT    OAKLAWN. 

^  HARMON  WESTLAKE  sat  before  his  library  table, 
"busily  engaged  in  writing.  For  an  hour  he  had  sat 
there  carefully  carrying  his  pen  over  a  large  sheet  of 
paper.  The  deep,  violet  eyes  of  the  spirited  face  hang- 
ing on  the  wall  seemed  to  look  reproachfully  down  at 
the  writer.  Sometimes  he  would  write  steadily  for  ten 
minutes,  then  stopping  to  read  it  over  would  tear  the 
paper  into  bits,  and  carefully  burning  the  fragments, 
would  begin  anew. 

From  a  curtained  doorway  behind  him,  Mrs.  Jicks* 
black  eyes  had  peered  from  time  to  time.  Feverishly 
restless  to  know  what  her  master  was  about  and  not 
daring  to  disturb  him,  she  slipped  off  her  shoes  and 
stealthily  crept  into  the  library.  Moving  silently  along 
with  an  agile  stillness  one  would  not  have  dreamed  hei 
capable  of,  she  at  last  gained  the  position  she  wanted 
— a  good  reading  distance  behind  Mr.  Westlake's 
chair.  Holding  her  breath,  her  keen  eyes  raced  ovef 
the  written  page.  Here  and  there  she  caught  sight  of 
names:  "Alfred  Lovedale,  slave-holder;  Lucille,  a 


132  The  Dark  Strain. 

black  slave;  duel  and  death,  Jason  Westlake" — and 
way  down  the  page  the  name  of  "Hester  Lovedale  Bir- 
ney  and  her  only  child,  Aphra  Birney,  wife  of  Harmon 
Westlake ;  Sarah  the  negress " 

Yes,  all  the  names  were  there  with  every  date,  every 
particular  of  the  degrading  secret  which  had  haunted 
the  life  of  Hester  Briscot  since  she  was  a  slip  of  a 
girl  sixteen  years  of  age.  The  secret  of  which  he  had 
given  her  the  main  facts  on  the  night  he  had  brought 
his  bride  to  Oaklawn. 

Noiselessly  retracing  her  footsteps,  Mrs.  Jicks  took 
up  her  post  behind  the  curtains  and  watched  until  he 
should  have  finished  his  task  and  she  could  see  what 
he  did  with  that  paper. 

Mr.  Westlake  ceased  writing  and  paused  to  read 
over  the  article  with  a  triumphant  smile  lighting  up 
his  features  and  broadening  out  the  gray  moustache. 
Apparently  satisfied  this  time,  he  added  his  signature, 
carefully  blotting  it,  then  folded  the  paper,  placing  it 
in  his  desk.  Mrs.  Jicks  sat  for  nearly  an  hour  at  her 
post  before  he  left  the  room.  Stealing  to  the  desk, 
she  withdrew  a  bunch  of  small  keys  from  her  pocket, 
opened  the  desk  and  secured  the  coveted  paper.  'Hast- 
ily relocking  the  desk,  she  went  to  her  own  private 
sitting-room.  Selecting  a  sheet  of  paper,  she  copied 
the  original  word  for  word,  date  for  date,  smacking 
her  lips  over  the  details  and  chuckling  to  herself  over 
the  rarity  of  the  scandal. 

"I  will  give  this  to  her  if  she  ever  accepts  his  terms 
and  occupies  her  place  down  here  again.  This  will  fix 
her.  She  will  either  go  crazy  and  stab  herself,  as  the 


Frank  at  Oaklawn.  133 

countess  did — I  have  taken  care  to  leave  that  dagger 
where  she  will  find  it — or  else  she  will  run  away.  She 
is  too  proud  to  stay  where  she  is  known  on  those 
grounds.  In  either  case  she  will  be  out  of  my  way. 
Then  Harmon  Westlake  will  marry  me,  or  I  will  hang 
him  if  I  have  to  swing  with  him." 

Her  task  completed,  the  original  was  restored  to  its 
place  and  the  copy  securely  hidden  in  Mrs.  Jicks'  own 
room. 

Meanwhile  Aphra,  the  innocent  object  of  all  these 
mysterious  doings,  was  passing  the  weary,  monotonous 
-xlays  in  her  lonely  tower  prison,  with  only  the  countess 
for  her  companion.  Every  morning,  according  to  his 
promise,  Mr.  Westlake  had  punctually  appeared  to  re- 
ceive his  wife's  apologies  for  past  ill-conduct  and 
guarantee  for  future  good  behavior.  Every  morning 
he  had  been  met  with  an  unflinching  determination 
on  the  part  of  his  wife  to  pursue  her  present  course, 
with  a  positive  assurance  she  would  never  accept  his 
terms. 

Her  sorest  trial  was  enforced  inactivity.  Feeling 
the  great  need  of  finding  something  to  do  to  occupy 
her  mind,  she  had  searched  the  room  over,  with  the 
gratifying  result  of  finding,  first,  a  needle  on  her 
morning  gown,  next  a  spool  of  thread  in  a  little  drawer 
of  the  ancient  dresser,  lastly  the  dagger.  The  happy 
thought  of  patchwork  came  to  her  for  want  of  a  bet- 
ter one.  To  be  sure  the  thread  was  old  and  yellow, 
still  it  was  quite  strong.  The  dagger  was  by  no  means 
a  pair  of  scissors,  but  it  was  very  sharp.  The  dresser 
in  the  wardrobe  and  hangings  upon  the  walls  presented 


134  The  Dark  Strain. 

innumerable  patches.  Although  rotten  in  many  places, 
where  the  sunlight  of  years  had  shone  in  upon  them, 
there  were  many  places  where  neither  sunlight  nor 
wear  had  tested  the  strength  of  the  fabric. 

Carefully  with  the  dagger — placed  there  as  a  temp- 
tation for  her  to  end  her  monotony  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent manner — she  cut  out  dozens  cf  fancy  shaped 
pieces.  Appropriating  a  clean  sheet,  she  commenced 
her  pleasant  task  by  sewing  the  scraps  on  it.  One  hour 
of  every  morning  and  one  of  every  afternoon  she  al- 
lowed for  her  work.  The  evenings  she  devoted  to 
cutting  out  more  pieces,  always  promptly  hiding  every 
trace  of  her  employment  whenever  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps reached  her  ears. 

The  centre  of  the  sheet  was  covered  with  a  good- 
sized  circle  of  patches  when  Frank  Greydon  arrived  at 
Oaklawn.  His  uncle  received  him  quite  as  warmly 
as  he  could  expect,  inquiring  very  particularly  after 
the  health  and  happiness  of  each  member  of  his  dear 
sister's  family  in  his  usual  courtly  manner,  with  his 
usual  bland  smile.  After  personally  conducting  his 
nephew  to  his  room,  he  sought  his  worthy  housekeeper 
for  a  little  private  conversation.  That  lady  was  just 
returning  through  the  hall  after  giving  orders  for  an 
extra  plate  to  be  laid  for  supper.  Gallantly  opening 
the  library  door  for  her  and  allowing  her  to  precede 
him,  Mr.  Westlake  followed  her  in  and  closed  the  door. 

"Now  we  will  not  inform  Frank  of  my  marriage 
just  at  present.  Considering  the  very  unpleasant  ex- 
isting circumstances,  I  mean  to  tame  my  bird  most 
thoroughly  before  I  exhibit  her,"  he  smilingly  began. 


Frank  at  Oaklawn.  135 

"Do  you  think  you  will  ever  succeed  in  that?"  re- 
torted his  companion. 

"Most  assuredly  I  shall  succeed.  Have  I  ever  failed 
in  anything  I  set  my  heart  and  soul  upon?" 

"Maybe  you  have  never  failed;  but  you  have  not 
always  made  a  complete  and  unqualified  success,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Jicks,  glancing  toward  the  picture  on  the 
wall. 

Mr.  Westlake's  eyes  followed  hers.  "No,  perhaps 
not;  but  it  certainly  was  not  a  failure.  I  expect  to 
have  a  little  more  plastic  material  in  this  one.  You 
see  she  has  some  of  my  blood  in  her  veins,  while  Aphra 
|nrs  a  strain  of  what  should  be  very  pliable  blood.  In 
truth,  I  can  safely  say  she  will  be  well  trained  in  time 
to  enter  into  the  holiday  festivities  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. Immediately  after  that  I  shall  introduce  her 
into  Philadelphia  society  and  take  my  sister's  family 
by  storm  by  exploding  the  bomb  in  their  midst." 

"Don't  count  your  chickens  before  they  are 
hatched,"  ungraciously  replied  Mrs.  Jicks.  "In  the 
meantime,  supposing  some  of  the  servants  gab  to 
Frank  or  he  overhears  something  about  her  being 
here?" 

"You  must  charge  them  all  not  to  mention  it.  If 
they  do  so  inadvertently  we  will  merely  say  she  is  an 
invalid  confined  to  her  room  under  my  protection  only ; 
throwing  back  on  the  tattler  the  rest  as  their  own  in- 
vention. He  will  probably  not  remain  here  more  than 
two  weeks  or  a  month  at  most.  I  think  we  are  safe 
for  that  length  of  time." 

Frank's  sunny  disposition  promptly  accommodated 


136  The  Dark  Strain. 

itself  to  surroundings.  He  laid  out  a  fine  round  of 
amusements,  embracing  a  dozen  ways  of  having  a 
good  time  during  his  stay.  With  the  remnants  of  his 
earnings  he  had  bought  some  little  present  for  each  of 
the  servants,  knowing  well  what  would  please  them. 
Before  an  hour  had  slipped  away  he  was  making  his 
rounds  distributing  the  gifts. 

His  entrance  into  the  kitchen  was  greeted  with 
titterings  of  delight  from  all  hands,  which  ended  in 
real  yah,  yahs  as  he  displayed  his  purchases. 

"Come  now,  Sally,  see  what  I  have  brought  you," 
exhibiting  a  string  of  bright  gilt  beads  to  the  little 
kitchen  maid.  "If  you  can  jump  on  the  table  in  one 
jump  you  shall  have  them." 

With  a  single  bound  Sally  performed  the  feat,  and 
jumped  down  again,  pulling  the  string  over  her 
woolly  head.  A  yard  of  lovely  pink  satin  ribbon  glad- 
dened the  heart  of  each  maid,  while  Liza  primped  be- 
fore the  little  glass  to  see  how  her  brand-new  turban 
became  her.  A  broad  grin  betokened  her  satisfaction, 
and,  grabbing  the  donor  in  her  black  arms,  she  gave 
him  a  hearty  squeeze,  accompanied  by  a  loud  smack ; 
then  pushing  him  toward  the  two  giggling  maids,  bade 
him  get  the  same  pay  from  them.  Making  a  great 
feint  of  complying,  he  chased  the  swift-footed  girls  all 
over  the  lower  part  of  the  house  in  high  glee.  Sally 
took  refuge  under  the  table,  spilling  an  entire  pan  of 
milk  on  the  floor  in  her  haste  and  getting  a  stinging 
box  on  the  ear  for  her  carelessness. 

"Doan  you  git  so  fly ;  you  doan  s'pose  Marse  Frank'd 
waste  his  time  kissin'  you,  do  you?" 


Frank  at  Oaklawn.  137 

Frank  was  a  great  favorite  among  all  the  servants 
at  Oaklawn,  both  in  the  house  and  at  the  stable.  His 
coming  was  always  greeted  with  giggles  and  grins 
of  joy.  Scarcely  had  the  end  of  his  coattails  disap- 
peared out  of  the  kitchen  door,  when  Sally  turned 
three  somersaults  in  sheer  delight.  Catching  her  by 
the  heels,  Liza  brought  her  right  side  up  and  admin- 
istered another  hearty  cuff  alongside  of  the  head, 
which  sent  the  little  woolly  pate  spinning  round  and 
round  and  displayed  scores  of  glancing  lights  like 
glittering  gilt  beads  to  float  before  Sally's  closed  eyes. 

"Heah,  you  brack  pickaninny,  doan  you  know  no 
bettuh  dan  dat?  Ef  you  wants  to  zibit  youah  acrobat 
cSpuhs,  jis  rassel  dem  pots  and  kittles  roun',  an'  doan 
waste  youah  strength  kickin'  youah  heels  up  in  de 
aih.  Dat's  bad  'miff  fer  Pete." 

Jake,  the  coachman,  and  little  Pete,  the  stable  boy, 
gave  Frank  a  hearty  welcome  when  he  entered  the 
stables. 

"Foh  de  Lord !  Ef  heah  ain't  Marse  Frank !"  cried 
Jake,  his  black  face  aglow  with  pleasure. 

Pete  dropped  the  pitchfork  and  stood  upon  his 
head,  his  heels  in  the  air,  yelling  with  all  his  might, 
"Hi  golly !  Hi  golly !" 

A  red  necktie  for  Jake  and  brand-new  fishing  tackle 
with  a  brilliantly  painted  "dobber"  made  their  joy 
complete. 

"Les'  go  fishin'  to-mahah,  Massa  Frank,  I  des  bet 
we'll  cotch  dat  yeah  big  pick'l  I  bin  seen  dawn  dah 
in  dat  pon',  a-sunnin'  hisself  an'  floppin'  his  fins  roun' 
des  to  tease  dis  yeah  coon.  Yes,  suh,  mistah  pick'l, 


138  The  Dark  Strain. 

youah  time  is  come,  suah  'nuff.  You  might  des  as 
well  speak  froh  youah  fryin'-pan.  Youah  name  is 
Dennis  now.  I  couldn't  git  you  wiv  a  haiah  pin  an' 
cawd,  but  now  I  des  bet  dis  yeah  pinted  hook'll  settle 
youah  hoe-cake.  You'se  am  a  gone  coon  now,  mistah 
pick'l." 

Frank  laughingly  tossed  the  little  darky  over  in 
the  pile  of  hay. 

"Look  out  for  yourself,  Pete,  or  you  may  be  the 
'gone  coon.'  How  are  your  horses,  Jake?  All  in  fine 
flesh,  I  see,  and  as  glossy  as  satin.  These  would  out- 
shine any  of  the  swell  teams  on  Chestnut  Street." 

Jake  grinned  his  appreciation  of  the  compliments, 
rubbing  the  shining  flanks  with  a  cloth  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"Ef  you  want  'em  to  shine,  Massa  Frank,  you  must 
pay  'tention  to  'em.  One  raw  egg  every  day  an'  a 
good  houah's  rubbin'  ebery  mawnin'll  do  it,  wiv  half 
houah  moah  right  aftah  dey  comes  in  from  a  drive. 
An'  dat  ain't  countin'  de  curryin'  an'  brushin'  noh 
washin',  jes  de  rubbin'  wif  dis  yeah  rag." 

"You  know  just  how  it's  done,  Jake.  There's  many 
that  would  give  all  four  shoes  to  have  you  for  their 
groom.  No  docked  tails  here,  either.  I  don't  believe 
in  them,  Jake,  no  more  than  you  do.  I  think  it  is 
awfully  cruel  and  gives  very  far  from  handsome 
looking  results." 

"Now  dat  Jes'  what  I  say,  Marse  Frank.  Jes'  look 
at  dem  horses'  tails,  almost  techin'  de  groun',  an'  dey 
would  only  I  trims  dem  off  at  de  fetlocks  ebery  week 


Frank  at  Oaklawn.  139 

on  Sunday  mawnin'.  Whah  could  you  find  a  puttiah 
sight  dan  dem  long,  flowin',  sweepin',  crinky  tails?" 

"There  goes  the  supper  bell !  I'll  have  to  cut  and 
run,  Jake.  I'll  be  down  again  in  the  morning.  Pete, 
you  be  sure  and  get  a  good  lot  of  bait,  good,  big 
night-walkers,"  cried  Frank,  as  he  ran  nimbly  toward 
the  house. 

His  uncle  and  Mrs.  Jicks  were  already  in  the  dining- 
room  waiting  for  him  when  he  appeared,  after  a  hasty 
toilet.  He  knew  well  enough,  too,  how  to  keep  on 
the  smoothest  sides  of  this  worthy  pair.  He  was  al- 
ways deferentially  polite  to  Mrs.  Jicks,  never  allowing 
he^-to  think  but  that  he  considered  her  in  every  way 
a  lady,  thereby  immensely  flattering  her  vanity. 

With  his  uncle  he  was  a  free,  jolly,  off-handed 
young  fellow;  always  obliging,  always  pleasant,  al- 
ways respectful.  Mr.  Westlake  secretly  enjoyed  these 
visits,  although  he  never  allowed  himself  to  be  be- 
trayed into  showing  Frank  anything  more  than  com- 
mon hospitality,  fearing,  if  he  did,  the  whole  family 
would  swoop  down  upon  him  unawares.  The  house 
always  seemed  so  much  brighter  during  Frank's  stay. 
The  air  seemed  purer,  brighter  and  less  oppressive. 
The  very  furniture  looked  less  dark  and  gloomy.  The 
pictured  face  in  the  library  seemed  to  catch  some  of 
his  gay  spirits,  as  the  two  pairs  of  violet  eyes  met, 
and  the  sweet,  full  lips  fairly  looked  smiling  down 
at  him. 

Frank  loved  to  contemplate  that  beautiful  face. 
There  was  a  certain  likeness  to  his  pet  sister  in  it,  only 
that  this  face  had  a  little  of  his  mother's  patrician  look 


140  The  Dark  Strain. 

in  it,  he  thought.  Grace  was  more  frank  and  merry 
looking.  There  had  always  been  a  sort  of  silent  sym- 
pathy between  this  likeness  of  his  dead  cousin  and 
himself.  He  often  wished  the  lovely  girl  were  alive, 
and  as  young  as  she  appeared  in  the  picture.  How  he 
would  have  loved  her!  And  with  far  more  than  a 
cousinly  devotion.  That  face  was  the  only  mistress 
his  heart  had  ever  owned,  it  was  his  very  ideal  of  a 
sweetheart. 

But  alas!  The  love,  devotion  and  allegiance  were 
all  in  vain,  he  knew.  Fifteen  years  before,  his  beauti- 
ful cousin  had  been  like  that ;  then  she  had  died, — such 
a  death  as  pierced  the  honest  heart  of  her  admirer 
with  a.  sickening  pain,  and  brought  the  hot,  angry 
blood  to  his  brow,  when  long  afterward  he  heard  the 
sad  story  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  It  was  well 
that  he  did  not  know  it  now ;  neither  that  nor  another 
of  his  uncle's  cruelly  wicked  deeds.  If  he  had,  he 
could  never  have  sat  at  the  same  table  with  him, 
breaking  his  bread,  nor  slept  so  soundly  beneath  that 
roof  that  was  haunted  by  so  sad  a  tragedy. 

Go  on,  Harmon  Westlake,  enjoy  yourself  while 
you  may,  according  to  your  own  peculiar  tastes.  En- 
tertain your  maudlin  friends;  satisfy  your  love  of 
power  by  gloating  over  your  young  wife;  lay  your 
plans  of  revenge;  plot  the  downfall  of  your  weak  sis- 
ter's pride;  there  is  a  cloud  gathering,  now  no  larger 
than  a  human  hand,  which  will  gather  over  your  grey 
burst  with  the  force  of  death  itself  over  your  grey 
head. 


The  Secret  Stairway.  141 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  SECRET  STAIRWAY. 

WHEN  Frank  first  opened  his  eyes  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  the  rain  was  beating  dismally  down  on 
the.^veranda  roof  outside  his  windows.  Springing 
from  his  bed,  he  drew  aside  the  curtains.  "Heigh-ho, 
this  will  spoil  all  Pete's  fun  for  to-day,  poor  little  beg- 
gar. No  doubt,  though,  but  the  little  black  rascal 
would  go  fast  enough  if  it  rained  cats  and  dogs,  to 
try  that  new  tackle.  But  I  don't  think  Francis  G. 
will  risk  his  gentlemanly  carcass  out  in  it.  Well,  here 
goes  to  be  ready  in  time  for  breakfast.  Say,  by  Jove ! 
I  forgot  to  tell  uncle  about  that  good  joke  on  the  con- 
ductor coming  down.  He  will  enjoy  that,  I  know.  I 
will  spin  that  at  the  table." 

He  hastily  donned  his  clothing  and  completed  his 
toilet,  carefully  brushing  the  wavy  brown  hair,  think- 
ing of  Grace  as  he  did  so.  Indeed,  he  seldom  beheld 
his  "physiog"  in  the  glass  without  thinking  of  her. 
He  wondered  how  much  she  missed  him,  and  wished 
she  was  there  with  him.  What  a  gay  time  they  could 
have  together. 

He  was  the  first  one  in   the   dining-room,   where 


142  The  Dark  Strain. 

Aggie  was  arranging  the  breakfast  table.  He  passed 
the  intervening  time  by  teasing  that  dusky  damsel 
about  a  certain  Jim  he  seemed  to  know  something 
about.  At  the  mention  of  the  name,  Aggie  giggled 
audibly,  endeavoring  to  swallow  a  good-sized  corner 
of  her  apron. 

"Oh,  you  go  'long,  Massa  Frank.  I  doan'  cayah 
nuffin'  'bout  him.  He's  too  bandy-legged.  He,  he, 
he!" 

"Good  morning,  Frank,"  saluted  his  uncle,  entering 
the  room.  "Rather  a  dismal  outlook." 

"Good  morning,  sir.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Jicks," 
bowing  pleasantly  to  her  as  she  came  in  from  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  dull  looking;  but  not  nearly  so 
bad  as  it  might  be  if  it  were  a  great  deal  worse,"  he 
laughingly  added,  as  he  placed  Mrs.  Jicks'  chair  and 
assisted  her  up  to  the  table. 

"There  is  logic  in  that,  certainly,  as  any  blind  man 
might  see,"  responded  Mr.  Westlake,  good  humoredly. 

"Oh,  uncle,  that  reminds  me  of  a  good  joke  that  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  about.  It  happened  yesterday  as  I 
was  coming  down  in  the  train.  When  the  train 
stopped  at  Washington,  a  young  fellow  came  aboard 
and  sat  down  just  in  front  of  me. 

"While  the  train  was  waiting  for  the  lunchers,  I 
leaned  over  and  asked  him  if  the  Flyer  had  gone  north 
— I  was  half  expecting  to  meet  my 'college  chum,  Tom 
Hastings,  there.  Instead  of  answering  me,  the  fellow 
handed  me  a  little  book  slate  on  which  was  written, 
'I  am  a  mute.'  I  took  the  slate  and  wrote  down  my 


The  Secret  Stairway.  143 

question,  and  he  answered,  no.  This  was  enough  to 
start  up  a  conversation.  He  turned  his  seat  facing 
mine,  and  we  had  that  end  of  the  car  all  to  ourselves. 
We  wrote  several  messages  on  the  little  slate.  By 
and  by  he  handed  me  a  cigar,  and  proceeded  to  light 
one  himself.  We  were  not  in  the  smoker,  but  as  it 
happened  there  was  not  a  lady  in  our  car,  so  I  fol- 
lowed his  example  and  lighted  mine.  The  train  drew 
out  of  the  station,  I  saw  one  of  the  train  men  enter 
the  further  door  of  the  car.  Instinctively  I  put  my 
cigar  out  of  sight.  Before  I  could  warn  my  com- 
panion, the  trainman  touched  him  on  the  arm  and  told 
nim^-smoking  was  not  allowed  in  that  car.  The  mute 
motioned  with  his  fingers — as  I  had  the  slate — that 
he  could  not  understand.  The  trainman  passed  on 
out  by  the  opposite  door,  and  after  I  informed  the 
mute  what  the  trouble  was,  we  laughed  and  resumed 
our  smoking.  In  a  few  seconds  I  felt  a  hand  placed 
on  my  shoulder.  I  looked  around  with  the  cigar  be- 
tween my  teeth,  to  face  the  conductor.  He  immedi- 
ately began  a  pantomime  with  his  fingers  to  me.  I 
looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  exclaimed:  'What 
in  the  name  of  common  sense  are  you  driving  at.' 

"The  look  that  passed  over  that  conductor's  face 
would  have  tickled  a  dog.  'Ain't  you  deaf  and  dumb?' 
he  cried,  astounded. 

"  'I  certainly  am  not,  if  I  know  myself,  and  I  think 
I  do,'  I  replied  coolly. 

"'Wait  till  I  catch  that  trainman,'  he  said,  getting 
red  in  the  face.  'He  told  me  there  was  a  mute  in  here 
smoking,  and  as  he  didn't  understand  the  sign  Ian- 


144  The  Dark  Strain. 

guage,  he  asked  me  to  come  in  and  stop  him.  I'll  get 
even  with  him  for  that  trick/  and  out  he  went,  slam- 
ming the  door. 

"The  mute  and  I  had  a  good  laugh  over  it.  He  had 
seen  the  conductor  and  had  hidden  his  cigar  just  as  I 
had  done  with  the  trainman." 

"Well,  that  was  a  good  one  on  the  conductor," 
laughed  Mr.  Westlake. 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  was  one  on  the  conductor 
or  two  on  the  trainman.  I  pity  him  if  the  conductor 
did  try  to  get  even  with  him,"  said  Mrs.  Jicks. 

After  breakfast  Frank  sauntered  out  of  the  room, 
thinking  what  he  might  best  do  to  pass  the  time  away. 

"I  guess  I'll  go  to  the  old  tower.  I  haven't  seen  it 
in  so  long.  Those  old  stone  parts  of  the  house  are 
capital  places  to  visit  on  a  rainy  day." 

There  being  no  communicating  door  between  the 
tower  and  the  adjoining  part,  on  the  lower  floor,  he 
was  obliged  to  run  out  of  doors  and  around  through 
the  rain.  Away  he  scampered  through  the  pouring 
shower,  reaching  the  shelter  without  getting  much 
wet. 

He  climbed  around,  over  the  heaps  of  debris,  toss- 
ing it  about  right  and  left,  in  hopes  of  discovering 
some  hidden  antiquity  that  had  eluded  his  keen 
searches  in  previous  visits.  Many  times  he  had  nim- 
bly climbed  up  those  crumbling  walls,  and  clinging 
to  the  treacherously  hanging  oak  beams,  had  crawled 
along  them  to  a  more  secure  footing,  and  examined 
the  ruined  rooms. 

As  he  now  stood,  looking  upward,  with  his  head 


The  Secret  Stairway.  145 

close  to  the  wall,  he  could  see  into  those  desolate,  tum- 
bled down  apartments,  with  their  ragged  draperies 
stirring  faintly  with  the  rush  of  air. 

"I  am  too  heavy  to  climb  up  there  now.  Those  old, 
black  beams  look  just  ready  to  drop.  I  would  like 
to  see  the  inside  of  those  two  rooms  at  the  top.  Uncle 
Harmon  says  the  door  has  been  nailed  up  on  account 
of  the  weakness  of  the  tower.  The  only  way  to  reach 
them  is  through  that  other  part.  I  wonder  if  they 
are  furnished.  These  big  cracks  will  sprawl  apart 
some  day,  then  down  the  whole  thing  will  tumble ; 
but  the  walls  are  awfully  thick.  It  may  stand  the 
racket  for  fifty  years  yet. 

*  "Now  here  is  a  big  stone  that  has  a  crack  all  the 
way  around  it.  A  great  square  fellow.  I  wonder  if 
it  reaches  clear  through  the  wall  ?  No,  it  doesn't." 

He  ran  his  fingers  around  the  crack,  in  the  crum- 
bling mortar.  Suddenly  the  stone  tumbled  outward, 
right  at  his  feet,  leaving  an  opening  about  two  feet 
square.  He  peered  into  the  space  and  found  that  the 
wall — on  that  side,  at  least — was  hollow.  Straggling 
rays  of  light  came  through  the  cracks.  He  could  look 
way  up,  to  what  seemed  as  though  it  might  be  the  very 
top  of  the  tower. 

"By  Jove,  here  is  a  find!"  he  exclaimed,  creeping 
cautiously  through  into  the  hollow  space.  He  tested 
the  walls  and  found  them  comparatively  safe.  The 
aperture  made  by  the  fallen  stone  let  in  an  additional 
amount  of  light.  By  its  aid  he  could  see,  in  the  end 
of  the  passage,  stones  projecting  at  even  distances 
apart,  up  the  entire  height,  looking  as  though  they 


146  The  Dark  Strain. 

might  have  been  built  in  the  solid  wall  to  serve  as  a 
sort  of  ladder. 

Frank  looked  up  at  the  primitive  stairway  and 
emitted  a  long,  low  whistle.  "I  wonder  if  I  could 
climb  up  to  those  top  rooms.  I  will  try  it  anyway. 
So  here  goes  on  a  real  voyage  of  discovery." 

Placing  his  foot  on  the  lowest  stone  and  catching 
the  second  one  above  with  his  hands,  he  began  the 
ascent,  drawing  himself  up  step  by  step,  guided  by 
the  light  streaming  in  through  the  crevices  in  the  outer 
wall.  Up,  up  he  went,  feeling  along  the  inner  wall 
at  every  step,  in  hope  of  finding  a  door.  At  last  his 
search  was  rewarded.  His  hand  touched  wood. 
Carefully  he  felt  all  around  it,  with  his  hands.  Yes, 
it  moved!  By  a  dint  of  pushing,  he  moved  it  back 
out  of  his  way.  It  was  a  sliding  panel.  The  opening 
was  dark  and  felt  small  like  a  closet.  His  hands  came 
into  contact  with  something  that  felt  like  silk  goods. 
He  stepped  inside,  and  becoming  entangled  with  cloth- 
ing, hastily  pulled  them  aside  to  find  a  curtained  glass 
door  before  him. 

On  pushing  it  open,  he  met  a  pair  of  wide  open, 
horror  stricken,  brown  eyes  set  in  a  deathly  white  face, 
and  surmounted  by  a  halo  of  golden  hair,  staring  at 
him  in  speechless  terror. 

Aphra  had  heard  the  scrambling  inside  the  old  ward- 
robe, had  fastened  her  eyes  on  the  opening  door — her 
heart  in  her  throat  and  the  blood  freezing  in  her  veins 
— expecting  to  see  the  ghost  of  the  dead  countess 
emerging,  arrayed  in  the  blood-stained  brocade. 

To  say  that  Frank  was  astonished  would  be  putting 


The  Secret  Stairway.  147 

it  mildly.  For  several  seconds  the  two  simply  stared 
at  each  other,  unable  to  credit  the  evidence  of  their 
own  senses.  He  was  the  first  to  find  voice. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  apologize  for  my  most  un- 
warranted intrusion,  in  entering  your  private  apart- 
ments, like  a  burglar,  my  dear  lady.  To  say  nothing 
of  the  fright  I  have  given  you." 

"Oh !  Then  you  are  a  living,  human  being !"  and 
Aphra  breathed  again. 

"I  certainly  am  human,  but  whether  I  am  humane 
or  not  I  leave  to  you.  I  was  inspecting  the  old  tower 
when  I  came  upon  this  secret  passage,  so  I  mounted 
the  steps  to  see  what  I  could  find.  I  never  had  a 
thought  of  finding  a  lady  'way  up  here  in  these  old 
ruins.  My  uncle  had  told  me  it  was  not  used,  and  had 
no  communication  with  the  habitable  part  of  the 
house.  I  suppose  he  has  changed  that.  I  will  take 
leave  of  you  by  the  other  way,  if  you  will  be  so  kind 
as  to  show  me  out." 

"I  would  be  very  glad  to  accommodate  you  if  I 
could.  There  is  the  door,  but  it  is  fastened  on  the 
other  side,"  replied  the  vision,  smiling  dubiously. 

"You  are  not  locked  in  here  alone?"  cried  Frank,  in 
a  tone  of  incredulity. 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"What  for,  may  I  ask?" 

"I  mutinied,  rebelled — or  whatever  you  can  call 
it — against  the  powers  that  be." 

"Meaning  my  uncle  and  Mrs.  Jicks." 

Aphra  bowed  her  head  in  assent.     "Your  uncle  is 


148  The  Dark  Strain. 

making  an  experiment,  by  trying  solitary  confinement, 
to  see  if  that  will  not  bring  me  to  terms." 

"Not  on  bread  and  water,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  no!  I  have  plenty  to  eat,"  she  replied,  dis- 
playing the  dimples  in  her  cheeks  in  a  most  bewitching 
manner. 

"What  a  shame !"  cried  Frank,  hotly  indignant. 

"You  see,  your  uncle  had  some  visitors — I  cannot 
call  them  gentlemen,  for  they  were  not — and  he  wished 
me  to  favor  them  with  some  music.  I  tried  to  com- 
ply, but  they  were  intoxicated  and  acted  so  outrageous- 
ly I  could  not  endure  it.  I  left  the  room  in  anger. 
He  resented  my  conduct,  and  brought  me  here  until 
such  a  time  as  I  will  agree  to  entertain  all  his  guests 
in  a  becoming  manner,  and  obey  him  implicitly." 

"Which  you  refused  to  do." 

"Which  I  refused  to  do,  even  to  death." 

"Bravo!  I  admire  your  pluck.  May  I  ask  your 
name?" 

"Aphra,"  she  replied,  simply,  never  for  one  mo- 
ment suspecting  he  did  not  know  she  was  his  uncle's 
wife. 

"May  I  call  you  that,  then  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Yes,  if  you  like,"  meeting  the  merry  eyes  with  a 
frank  smile. 

"Thank  you,  ever  so  much.  I  am  Frank  Greydon. 
I  came  here  yesterday.  My  home  is  in  Philadelphia. 
My  mother  is  Uncle  Harmon's  sister.  Have  you  been 
up  here  long?" 

"About  two  weeks.  I  have  only  been  in  the  house 
since  the  middle  of  July." 


The  Secret  Stairway.  149 

"I  will  not  ask  you  how  you  like  it;  for  of  course 
you  don't  like  it  at  all.  I  wouldn't,  either,  only  for 
the  place  and  servants.  I  am  very  fond  of  all  of 
them.  How  do  you  pass  your  time  away?  I  should 
think  you  would  die  of  ennui." 

Aphra  gaily  brought  forth  her  patch  work,  telling 
him  of  all  her  difficulties. 

"You  shall  have  some  books  to  read.  I  will  bring 
you  some  this  afternoon.  May  I?" 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  something  to  read, 
if  you  can  manage  it  without  being  detected.  Your 
uncle  may  now  be  wondering  where  you  are." 
.^"Yes,  and  if  he  once  found  out  I  had  discovered 
*your  prison,  he  would  put  a  stop  to  it  by  sending  me 
home.  Suppose  I  put  it  off  until  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. I  can  slip  away  while  he  is  in  the  library,  and 
the  eagle-eyed  Mrs.  Jicks  at  her  tasks.  I  have  a 
little  volume  of  Browning  with  me,  will  you  have  it 
for  the  present?"  Pulling  a  red  cloth  bound  book 
with  gilt  edges  from  his  inner  pocket,  he  offered  it  to 
her. 

Aphra  joyfully  received  it,  thanking  him  sweetly. 
He  remained  some  time  longer,  then,  bidding  her  a 
regretful  adieu,  and  promising  to  return  in  the  morn- 
ing, took  his  departure  by  the  way  he  came. 

Once  more  upon  terra  firma,  he  went  directly  to  his 
room  to  brush  the  dust  from  his  clothes. 

"Well,  if  that  isn't  the  greatest  and  the  latest !  What 
a  lovely  girl  she  is.  She  must  be  a  ward  of  uncle's. 
He  is  a  cad  to  shut  her  up  like  that.  If  I  dared,  I 
would  just  like  to  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him.  It 


150  The  Dark  Strain. 

would  do  no  good,  and  might  do  a  deal  of  harm  I 
will  be  glad  when  to-morrow  comes.  I  wonder  what 
book  she  will  like  best.  After  dinner  I  will  go  in  the 
library  and  choose  one.  She  is  certainly  the  most 
beautiful  girl  I  ever  saw.  How  I  wish  Grace  could 
see  her.  Wouldn't  they  love  each  other,  though! 
Grace  would  hug  her  half  to  death.  Shall  I  write 
and  tell  her?  No,  I  guess  I'd  better  wait  until  I  go 
home." 

Aphra  went  about  her  room  humming  softly  to  her- 
self, a  new  lightness  in  her  heart.  She  no  longer  felt 
so  utterly  alone  and  deserted.  The  next  morning  he 
would  come  again  and  bring  her  a  book.  Perhaps  he 
would  come  every  morning.  She  was  his  aunt  by 
marriage,  so  it  was  all  right  for  him  to  come  if  he 
liked.  Of  course,  she  didn't  want  him  to  call  her 
"aunt,"  it  would  be  too  absurd.  She  was  younger 
than  he. 

She  spoke  pleasantly  to  Mrs.  Jicks  when  she  ap- 
peared with  the  dinner  tray.  She  felt  so  much  hap- 
pier, she  could  not  be  cross  with  any  one.  Frank 
had  said  he  was  to  remain  at  Oaklawn  for  several 
weeks.  Before  he  went  she  would  manage  to  get  out 
of  that  place  in  some  way,  even  if  she  had  to  go  down 
the  same  way  he  did.  Then  she  would  run  away  and 
go  home.  Her  mother  surely  would  not  compel  her 
to  return  after  all  she  had  suffered.  At  any  rate,  now, 
she  could  write  to  her  and  get  Frank  to  mail  it  with 
his  own  hands.  She  would  ask  him  to  watch  the 
incoming  mail  for  her,  too.  How  she  enjoyed  reading 
her  book  that  afternoon. 


The  Secret  Stairway.  151 

"To  Frank,  with  love,  from  Grace,"  was  written 
on  the  fly-leaf.  She  wondered  who  Grace  was,  until 
she  remembered  the  picture,  and  that  Grace  was  his 
youngest  sister — the  one  that  looked  so  much  like  him. 

Aphra  laid  her  head  down  on  the  pillow  that  night 
with  a  lighter,  happier  heart  than  she  had  carried 
since  that  day — so  long,  long  ago  it  seemed — when 
her  mother  had  come  into  her  room,  and  asked  her  to 
marry  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  She 
dreamed  of  the  old  wardrobe  and  of  the  countess' 
ghost  coming  out  of  it,  but  the  ghost  always  changed 
into  a  fine,  manly  young  fellow,  with  laughing  eyes 
and  a  merry  face. 


152  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

YOUNG    HEARTS. 

FRANK  was  abroad  very  early  the  following  morn- 
ing, impatient  for  the  hour  to  arrive  when  he  might 
safely  make  his  visit  to  the  tower.  To  while  the  time 
away,  he  went  to  the  kitchen  and  stable.  Liza  was 
baking  muffins,  and  the  coffee  pot  was  dancing  mer- 
rily on  the  stove,  pouring  forth  an  aromatic  steam. 

"Breakfast  nearly  ready,  Liza?  I'm  awfully  hun- 
gry." 

"Yaas,  it's  putty  nigh  done,  but  'taint  jes  'zactly 
time  foah  it  yet.  You'se  hungry,  is  you.  When  was 
you  anything  else,  Massa  Frank?  You  jes'  set  down 
dar  an'  I'll  git  you  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  muffin.  Heah 
you,  Sal !  You  brack  imp !  Git  Marse  Frank  a  cup 
an'  sassah,  an'  knife  and  spoon,  an'  buttah,  an'  cream, 
an'  sugah.  Do  you  heah?  Ef  you  ain't  got  ebery 
one  on  'em  heah  foah  I  counts  ten,  I'll  knock  you  haid 
clean  offen  your  showdahs." 

Little  Sally  skipped  away  to  execute  the  commis- 
sion, grinning  broadly  at  Frank  as  she  disappeared. 

"I  'clah  to  goodness,  Marse  Frank,  dat  pickaninny 
is  'nuff  to  try  de  haht  outen  a  stone.  Yo*u  jes'  have 


Young  Hearts.  153 

to  tell  huh  ebery  single  t'ing  you  wants  huh  to  do. 
She  ain't  got  no  gumption  no  moah  nor  a  cat,  she  ain't 
got  sense  'nuff  to  scrape  up  cold  vittles.  She  ain't 
good  for  nuffin  but  to  turn  sumersets." 

Frank  laughed  so  heartily  at  Liza's  account  of  Sal- 
ly's accomplishments  that  the  abashed  darky  slunk 
out  of  sight  behind  the  door,  where  she  amused  Frank 
and  revenged  herself  by  making  "snoots"  at  Liza. 

After  finishing  his  lunch,  and  thanking  Liza,  not 
neglecting  to  spin  a  penny  across  the  kitchen  floor  to 
the  little  delinquent,  he  started  forth  in  quest  of  Pete. 
He  found  the  object  of  his  search  diligently  at  work 
in  the  stable. 
^-X'Hello,  Pete,  did  you  go  fishing  yesterday?" 

"Now,  Marse  Frank,  I  hope  you  won't  git  mad, 
'cause  I  went  wivout  waiti'  foh  you.  But  you  see,  I 
des  tawt  a  gemmin  lak  you  wouldn't  want  ter  go  out  in 
de  rain,  so  I  des  toted  long  'lone." 

"I'll  forgive  you  this  time,  but  I  am  going  to  pun- 
ish you  just  the  same.  I  shall  not  go  with  you  at  all 
now.  You  will  have  to  go  alone  every  morning,  and 
bring  home  fish  enough  for  my  supper,  you  rascal." 

Pete's  face  drew  down  to  a  lugubrious  length  at  the 
first  part  of  the  sentence,  but  broadened  out  propor- 
tionately as  visions  of  long,  lazy  hours  spent  in  de- 
licious idleness,  lying  along  the  banks  of  the  river, 
opened  out  before  him.  After  a  few  words  to  Jake 
the  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  he  hurried  off  to  the  house. 

He  treated  Mrs.  Jicks  with  usual  courtsey,  and 
chatted  with  his  uncle  just  as  though  he  had  never 
learned  of  their  cruelty  to  Aphra.  He  was  sharp 


154  The  Dark  Strain. 

enough  to  know,  if  he  wanted  to  cultivate  that  young 
lady's  acquaintance,  he  must  be  wary — as  wary  as 
the  plotters  themselves — and  not  allow  either  of  them 
to  suspect  he  knew  aught  of  their  doings. 

He  watched  for  a  favorable  opportunity  of  slipping 
out  unnoticed.  With  the  book  under  his  arm,  he 
sauntered  around,  finally  bringing  up  at  the  tower. 
A  moment's  work  sufficed  for  removing  the  flat  stone. 
He  stepped  within  the  secret  passage,  and  in  a  short 
time  was  tapping  on  the  back  of  the  wardrobe. 

Aphra  sprang  to  her  feet  at  the  welcome  sound, 
opening  the  glass  door,  displaying  a  very  bright  face. 

"This  is  a  rather  unusual  entrance  to  a  lady's 
boudoir,  but  it  is  good-  enough  what  there  is  of  it, 
and  plenty  such  as  it  is,"  Frank  laughingly  remarked. 

"I  am  exceedingly  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  offer  you 
a  better  one,  and  very  thankful  that  it  exists  at  all," 
she  replied,  giving  him  her  hand. 

"You  see  I  have  kept  my  promise,"  holding  out 
the  book.  "Now  guess  what  is  it." 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't.  Let  me  see — it  has  a  brown 
cover,  and  is  of  pretty  good  size.  Is  it  one  of  Rosa 
Carey's  works?" 

"No.    Guess  again." 

"One  of  Dickens',  then,  perhaps?" 

"No,  it  is  one  of  Mary  J.  Holmes'.  See  if  you  have 
read  it  before." 

"I  think  not.  At  any  rate,  I  am  sure  to  like  it.  In- 
deed, anything — even  Dante's  Inferno — would  be  ac- 
ceptable after  my  enforced  abstinence  from  all  read- 
ing matter.  I  never  cared  half  so  much  for  Browning 


Young  Hearts.  155 

until  you  let  me  have  this  little  copy.  Sit  down,  let 
us  talk.  I  will  save  the  book  for  solitary  digestion. 
I  did  take  such  comfort  with  your  little  book.  A 
present  from  your  sister,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes.  Grace  gave  it  to  me  on  my  last  birthday. 
I  am  sure  mother  put  the  idea  in  her  head,  for  Grace, 
herself,  does  not  care  for  such  poetry.  I  always 
carry  it  with  me  for  the  sake  of  the  donor.  I  was 
wishing  yesterday  that  you  could  see  and  know  Grace. 
She  would  be  such  company  for  you." 

"I  have  seen  her  photo.  It  is  in  the  parlor,  together 
with  all  the  rest  of  your  family.  Mrs.  Jicks  told  me 
about  them." 

^"•Mother  insisted  on  having  them  taken  expressly 
for  Uncle  Harmon's  benefit,  or  more  correctly  speak- 
ing, our  benefit ;  by  presenting  us — by  proxy,  as  it 
were,  to  him.  I  rather  doubt  it  ever  benefiting  us, 
though.  Uncle  Harmon  positively  dislikes  mother 
and  Thurza,  and  barely  tolerates  me.  I  hardly  know 
how  he  regards  Grace.  She  is  too  independent  for 
him,  and  of  him.  Yet  she  has  none  of  the  family 
pride  he  dislikes  in  mother  and  Thurza." 

"Do  they  often  come  here?" 

"Oh,  my,  no!  He  would  not  have  them  here. 
They  used  to  come,  but  mother  and  Mrs.  Jicks  could 
never  hit  it  off  well  together.  Mother  considers  Mrs. 
Jicks  as  an  upper  servant  only ;  while  Mrs.  Jicks  con- 
siders herself  the  equal  of  any  lady  in  the  land,  and 
is  not  to  be  put  upon.  They  had  some  high  words. 
Mrs.  Jicks  became  very  angry  and  sought  a  private 
conversation  with  uncle.  He  asked  mother  to  go  away 


156  The  Dark  Strain. 

in  that  polite  way  of  his,  which,  of  course,  was  equiv- 
alent to  telling  her  to  go  and  never  return.  There  has 
been  no  visiting  since,  excepting  that  he  asked  me  to 
come  occasionally.  I  never  would  have  come  here 
again  if  I  could  have  had  my  way.  I  just  come  to 
please  mother.  You  see,  we  are  the  only  relatives 
he  has,  and  will  naturally  inherit  his  property.  Mother 
thinks  we  ought  to  try  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of 
him.  I  often  have  my  doubts  about  our  getting  it. 
He  is  so  queer.  It  would  be  just  like  him  to  leave  it 
all  to  Mrs.  Jicks  to  spite  us.  For  my  part,  I  don't  care 
one  iota  if  he  does.  I  am  able  to  work  for  my  living, 
and  would  a  thousand  times  rather  do  it  than  loaf 
around  waiting  for  his  shoes." 

Aphra  smiled  at  his  earnestness.  "I  am  glad, 
though,  you  have  continued  to  come  here.  Else  I 
might  have  been  doomed  to  a  lifetime  of  imprispnment. 
I  never  can  be  thankful  enough  that  you  found  me 
out,  even  though  you  did  frighten  me  so.  Do  you 
know  I  thought  you  were  the  ghost  of  this  dead  coun- 
tess coming  to  haunt  me.  Mrs.  Jicks  told  me  the  first 
night  I  was  shut  in  here  that  the  countess  was  insane 
and  committed  suicide  by  stabbing  herself  on  that  very 
bed.  That  stain  on  the  floor  is  supposed  to  be  her  life's 
blood.  In  the  wardrobe  hangs  the  very  dress  she 
had  on." 

"No  wonder  I  frightened  you  out  of  your  wits. 
Haven't  you  been  afraid  to  be  locked  in  here  with  all 
these  ghastly  things?" 

"I  was  terrified  at  first,  but  I  would  not  allow  myself 
to  give  way  to  it.  Now  I  feel  more  at  home  and  better 


Young  Hearts.  157 

acquainted  with  my  surroundings.  I  am  not  at  all 
afraid.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Jicks  told  me  of  it  just  to 
frighten  me,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  be  fright- 
ened to  please  her." 

"The  heathen  wretch !"  he  cried,  indignantly.  "The 
servants  know  you  are  here,  don't  they?" 

"I  do  not  know  whether  they  do  or  not.  I  never  saw 
any  of  them  but  the  two  maids,  coachman  and  stable 
boy.  I  never  went  into  the  kitchen.  I  used  to  go  to 
see  the  horses  sometimes  before  those  wretched  men 
came." 

"I  am  in  the  kitchen  every  day,  and  in  the  stable, 
too.  I  was  wondering  why  none  of  them  ever  spoke 
eF  you  to  me.  I  have  never  heard  even  a  mention 
of  your  existence.  Didn't  you  have  a  maid?" 

"Yes,  I  brought  my  old  nurse,  Sarah,  with  me.  She 
has  been  in  our  family  since  my  mother  was  a  young 
girl.  She  had  never  been  ordered  about,  but  had  al- 
ways had  her  own  way.  She  and  Mrs.  Jicks  clashed 
and  Sarah  rebelled ;  then  they  sent  her  back  to  New 
York  again.  Aggie  assisted  me  a  little  afterward." 

"Depend  upon  it,  uncle  has  forbidden  them  to  tell 
me  anything  of  your  being  here.  So  your  home  is  in 
New  York.  I  visited  there  two  years  ago.  Some  of 
my  college  chums  live  there." 

They  chatted  on  and 'on,  now  on  one  topic,  now  on 
another,  while  the  hours  flew  rapidly  by.  Both  were 
astonished  when  Aphra's  quick  ear  detected  the  distant 
sound  of  footsteps.  Her  cheek  paled.  Pulling  out 
her  watch,  she  cried :  "It  is  Mrs.  Jicks  with  my  din- 
ner. I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late." 


158  The  Dark  Strain. 

Frank  needed  no  other  warning,  but  sprang  into  the 
wardrobe,  drawing  the  door  noiselessly  after  him. 

With  rapidly  beating  heart  Aphra  leaned  her  head 
upon  her  hand,  hoping  the  sharp,  black  eyes  would 
imagine  a  headache  to  excuse  the  pallor  she  could  not 
hide. 

"You  are  not  looking  well  to-day,"  remarked  the 
worthy  dame,  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

"It  is  nothing,  I  am  sure,"  Aphra  replied. 

"I  hope  your  mind  isn't  giving  way.  This  is  a 
great  place  for  madness.  One  other  young  lady,  not 
far  from  your  age,  went  mad  in  this  tower." 

"My  mind  is  all  right,  so  far,  at  any  rate.  If  will 
power  has  anything  to  do  with  it,  you  may  rest  as- 
sured, Mrs.  Jicks,  I  shall  not  follow  the  example/' 

"You  haven't  made  up  your  mind  then  to  accept  Mr. 
Westlake's  terms,  have  you?"  she  asked,  rather  anx- 
iously. 

"My  answer  to  Mr.  Westlake  has  been  the  same 
from  the  very  first  day  he  named  his  conditions  to  me," 
was  the  haughty  response. 

"Well,  of  course,  you  have  not  been  here  long  yet. 
Wait  until  the  weeks  grow  into  months  and  the  months 
into  years.  Then  you  will  know  what  it  is  that  under- 
mines the  strongest  constitution,  weakens  the  will  and 
dethrones  the  reason." 

"I  am  quite  willing  to  wait,  Mrs.  Jicks.  So  very 
willing,  in  fact,  that  I  will  not  anticipate  the  evil  day 
by  even  thinking  of  it.  When  one  has  only  thoughts 
for  companions  they  may  just  as  well  be  pleasant  and 
cheery  ones  as  dismal  and  foreboding." 


Young  Hearts.  159 

After  the  key  grated  in  the  lock,  Frank,  who  had 
been  standing  motionless  within  the  wardrobe,  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  door,  softly  clapping  his  hands  and 
crying  "Bravo !" 

Aphra  laughed.  A  sweet,  joyous  little  laugh  it  was, 
while  her  eyes  sparkled  and  a  soft  blush  mantled  her 
cheek.  Ah !  could  Mrs.  Jicks  but  have  seen  her  then ! 

"I  wish  I  could  invite  you  to  dinner,  but  I  am  sorry 
to  say  she  never  brings  more  than  enough  for  me,  and 
of  course  you  have  a  healthy  appetite." 

"I  have  indeed.  I  would  like  to  say  it  was  poor ;  that 
I  scarcely  ate  enough  to  keep  a  bird  alive,  only  that  my 
looks  would  belie  my  words.  However,  I  would  like 
ip  make  a  suggestion.  With  your  kind  permission  I 
'will  take  dinner  with  you  to-morrow  and  furnish  my 
own  share  .of  the  repast." 

"Can  you  manage  it  without  fear  of  discovery?" 

"Trust  me  for  that.    I  shall  run  no  risk." 

"Then  I  shall  be  delighted.  I  would  like  to  ask  a 
favor  of  you,  too.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  bring 
me  writing  materials.  I  want  so  much  to  write  a  letter 
home.  Then  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  mail  it  also." 

"With  pleasure." 

They  shook  hands  warmly  again,  and  Frank  disap- 
peared through  the  dark  space  behind  the  wardrobe. 
As  he  was  scrambling  down  the  stones  a  new  thought 
came  to  him.  "Why  couldn't  I  get  a  rope  and  fasten 
it  up  there?  It  would  help  me  to  get  up  and  down 
much  easier.  This  sort  of  traveling  is  rather  wear- 
ing on  one's  hands  and  clothes.  I'll  try  it  to-morrow. 
Jake  will  get  me  a  rope." 


160  The  Dark  Strain. 

In  pursuance  of  which  he  sought  Jake  that  very 
afternoon  and  made  known  his  need. 

"How  long  must  it  be,  Marse  Frank?" 

"About  thirty-five  feet,  I  guess." 

"Phew !  Dat's  a  long  rope,  Marse  Frank.  Will  an 
ole  one  do?" 

"No ;  it  must  be  good  and  strong." 

"  'Bout  how  strong  now.  Strong  'nuff  to  hole  a  big 
dog?"  queried  Jake,  with  his  grizzly  wool  on  one  side 
and  squinting  one  eye  at  Frank. 

"Yes,  strong  enough  to  hold  me." 

"You  ain't  t'inkin'  o'  permitten  suicide,  is  you, 
Marse  Frank?" 

"Not  yet  a  while,  Jake." 

"Well,  de  on'y  rope  'bout  thirty-five  feet  long,  an 
good  an'  strong  an'  strong  .'nuff  to  hole  you  dat  I 
knows  on  is  Liza's  new  clothes  line.  She  dun  got  it 
las'  week,  an'  I  ain't  had  time  to  put  it  up  foh  huh 
yit" 

"Could  you  let  me  have  it  and  get  her  another  one  ?" 

"Dah's  jes'  one  way  I  could  do  dat,  an'  dat  is  I  kin 
tell  huh  dat  I  done  forgot  to  git  dat  one  an'  I  git  huh 
nodduh  one  when  I  goes  up  nex'  time." 

"All  right,  Jake,  trot  it  out.  I'll  take  the  sin  of  the 
lie  on  my  own  account.  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  give 
it  to  me,  only  I  want  it  very  much  in  the  morning. 
I  am  going  on  a  climbing  tour  round  the  rocks  and 
stones." 

"Gwine  artuh  eagles'  eggs,  Marse  Frank?" 

"Not  just  exactly,  but  if  I  find  any  I'll  bring  them 
to  you." 


Young  Hearts.  161 

Jake  produced  the  coveted  rope.  Frank  thanked 
him  and  carried  the  treasure  to  his  room.  All  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day  his  thoughts  were  with  Aphra.  He 
even  tried  to  picture  her  face  in  the  frame  above  the 
library  table.  Somehow  the  face  of  the  dead  Estelle 
had  lost  its  charm  for  him.  The  other  one  seemed 
so  much  more  lovable.  He  caught  himself  wondering 
if  she  had  ever  loved  any  man,  devoutly  hoping  she 
had  not. 

How  delightful  it  would  be  to  roam  about  the  place 
in  her  company.  What  glorious  times  they  could  have. 
She  was  so  frank  and  pleasant.  No  restraint  about  her 
and  no  overstrained  notions  of  propriety.  This  thought 
carried  him,  mentally,  homeward.  What  would  his 
•frfother  and  Thurza  say  to  his  making  daily  calls  upon 
a  young  lady  in  her  private  room  ?  How  shocked  they 
would  be.  He  laughed  as  he  pictured  the  looks  of  well- 
bred  horror  on  their  faces. 

Grace,  he  knew,  would  join  right  in  with  him.  She 
would  see  nothing  wrong  in  it  so  long  as  he  chose  to 
do  it.  It  is  such  a  comfort  to  have  one  person  in  the 
world  that  thinks  everything  one  does  is  right.  The 
king  can  do  no  wrong.  He  was  Grace's  king — re- 
member the  butcher  was  her  lover.  Dear,  loving,  self- 
willed  Grace,  how  he  wished  again  she  were  with  him. 
He  hoped  she  was  happy  with  her  butcher  in  his  ab- 
sence. She  was  pretty  sure  to  be  anyway.  When  she 
gave  her  heart  to  the  butcher,  not  as  an  article  of  mer- 
chandise, she  gave  it  for  all  time.  Neither  persuasion, 
remonstrance  nor  any  sort  of  obstacle  could  swerve 
her  from  her  purpose.  She  had  announced  her  inten- 


1 62  The  Dark  Strain. 

tion  of  marrying  him,  and  insisted  in  her  cheerfully 
stubborn  manner  on  his  right  to  call  upon  her.  She 
set  herself  deliberately  to  work  to  wear  out  the  op- 
position of  her  mother  and  sister. 

"Grace  will  come  out  all  right.    Trust  her,"  thought 
the  admiring  brother. 


A  Memorable  Day.  163 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A      MEMORABLE    DAY. 

APHRA  was  up  betimes  the  next  morning.  She 
busied  herself  setting  the  little  room  in  order  for  her 
expected  guest.  Mr.  Westlake  made  his  customary 
call  and  received  her  customary  answer  with  a  little 
*  more  than  customary  asperity.  He  was  beginning  to 
think  the  material  was  not  so  very  plastic  after  all, 
even  if  none  of  his  blood  did  run  through  her  veins. 

True  to  his  promise,  Frank  appeared  as  soon  as 
he  knew  the  coast  was  clear  with  the  clothes  line 
neatly  coiled  around  his  body. 

"What  in  the  world  is  that  for?"  cried  Aphra,  as 
he  proceeded  to  unwind  it  after  returning  her  friendly 
greeting. 

"I  am  going  to  fasten  it  so  I  can  get  up  and  down 
easier.  Climbing  over  those  rough  stones  is  hard 
work." 

"How  good  of  you  to  come  to  relieve  my  loneliness," 
she  exclaimed,  a  bright  light  shining  in  her  eyes. 

Frank  blushed  guiltily  as  he  thought  it  was  not 
solely  on  that  account  he  came. 

"I  have  a  delicious  lunch  for  us,"  he  cried,  gaily, 


1 64  The  Dark  Strain. 

bringing  from  his  pocket  several  bulky  parcels  neatly 
wrapped  in  white  paper. 

"Half  a  roast  chicken  done  to  a  turn ;  a  small  sized 
pie — one  of  Liza's  most  flaky  ones ;  three  delicious 
rolls,  white  as  snow ;  a  jar  of  honey ;  a  bunch  of  cress, 
fresh  and  green ;  two  sweet,  juicy  oranges ;  two 
bunches  of  luscious  grapes  and  a  bottle  of  raspberry 
wine.  There,  how  is  that  for  a  spread  ?"  proudly  eye- 
ing the  assortment. 

"How  did  you  get  them  all  ?"  cried  Aphra,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Not  by  telling  the  truth,  I  assure  you.  In  the  first 
place  I  had  to  fib  to  Jake  to  get  the  rope.  So  I  thought 
to  lessen  the  sin  and  have  my  stories  hang  together  as 
well.  I  told  Liza  the  same  thing — that  I  was  going 
mountain  climbing  and  would  not  be  home  to  dinner. 
Would  she  be  so  good  as  to  put  us  up  a  good,  big 
lunch?  Which  she  did  with  a  vengeance,  as  you  see 
here." 

"I  will  hide  them  until  time  to  eat  them.  We  might 
have  the  grapes  now,  though.  There  will  be  so  much 
with  what  Mrs.  Jicks  brings  we  cannot  possibly  eat 
it  all." 

Aphra  concealed  the  food.  Then  bringing  out  her 
patchwork,  sat  down  near  a  window.  Frank  seated 
himself  at  her  side,  prepared  to  enjoy  the  long,  happy 
hours  to  his  utmost.  They  sat  chatting  pleasantly, 
Aphra  sewing  and  Frank  holding  first  her  thread,  then 
the  dagger  and  then  the. silk  pieces. 

By  and  by  dinner  time  came,  and  with  it  Mrs.  Jicks. 
Frank  secreted  himself  until  the  coast  was  clear  again, 


A  Memorable  Day.  165 

when,  emerging  from  his  hiding  place,  he  assisted  in 
arranging  the  table. 

"We  have  only  one  plate,  one  cup  and  saucer  and 
one  knife  and  fork,"  exclaimed  Aphra,  in  dismay. 

"Never  mind,  I  can  use  the  dagger  for  a  knife  and 
your  dessert  fork.  I  can  eat  from  your  saucer." 

"No,  indeed !  You  are  my  guest.  I  cannot  allow 
that.  I  shall  take  the  dessert  fork  and,  see,  I  can  slip 
the  dessert  into  the  saucer  and  eat  from  that  plate. 
There,  that  is  better.  But  how  shall  we  manage  about 
drinking?" 

"You  shall  have  the  first  choice.  I  will  wait  until 
you  have  finished,"  readily  answered  Frank. 

"No,  I  shall  not  do  that  either.  We  will  pretend  we 
*$te  at  church  and  each  take  our  sips  of  wine  from  the 
same  cup.  Shall  we  divide  the  coffee  first?" 

What  a  merry  meal  it  was.  How  they  laughed  as 
they  ate  and  drank.  No  feast  was  ever  enjoyed  one- 
half  so  much.  Never  had  their  food  tasted  so  good. 
They  prolonged  the  ceremony  as  long  as  there  was  any 
possible  excuse  for  doing  so,  making  as  many  courses 
as  human  ingenuity  could  devise  out  of  the  material. 
Lingering  as  long  over  each  separate  course  as  though 
sitting  at  an  elaborate  social  function. 

After  it  was  all  over  at  last,  Frank  wrapped  every 
chicken  bone  and  every  fruit  skin  in  paper,  putting 
the  package  in  his  pocket,  lest  their  presence  betray 
his  visit. 

Aphra  had  been  thinking  of  the  other  tower  pris- 
oner whose  face  she  had  seen  at  the  window.  She 
decided  to  tell  Frank  about  it  and  see  if  he  knew 


1 66  The  Dark  Strain. 

who  it  was.  She  related  all  she  knew  of  it — her 
wonder  at  the  dusty  footprints  and  ringer  marks ; 
of  Mrs.  Jicks'  replies  to  her  questions;  how  she  had 
seen  her  carry  in  the  tray  of  food;  and  of  the  grey- 
haired  person,  whose  face  she  had  seen. 

Frank  listened  with  growing  wonder  and  amaze- 
ment. His  eyes  dilating  and  his  cheeks  growing 
pale  as  strange  possibilities  presented  themselves  to 
him. 

"Can  it  be  possible  that  Uncle  Harmon  is  such  a 
knave  as  this  would  make  it  seem?  Who  can  it  be? 
What  is  his  object?" 

"I  am  sure  I  cannot  answer  any  of  those  questions. 
I  only  know  what  I  saw." 

"Let  me  light  your  candle  and  look  into  the  pass- 
age, there  may  be  a  way  to  reach  that  room,  too." 

Trembling  with  excitement  he  lighted  the  taper 
and,  closely  followed  by  Aphra,  proceeded  to  examine 
the  secret  entrance.  Very  carefully  he  searched  along 
every  stone,  crack  or  crevice.  The  passage  ended 
abruptly  at  the  ceiling  of  Aphra's  room.  Search  on 
patiently  as  they  might,  they  could  find  no  means 
of  reaching  the  floor  above. 

"There  is  no  use,  Aphra,  of  looking  any  longer. 
I  am  sure  the  wall  is  solid  above.  The  secret  stair- 
way does  not  reach  any  further  than  this  room." 

Both  were  disappointed  at  the  result  of  the  search. 

"While  we  have  a  light  here,  I  will  fasten  my  rope," 
said  Frank. 

Aphra  held  the  candle  while  he  secured  the  rope, 


A  Memorable  Day.  167 

making  it  perfectly  safe  Hor  him  to  bear  his  weight 
upon. 

"What  is  that  spot  on  the  stone  at  your  feet  ?"  asked 
Aphra,  pointing  to  a  dark  stain. 

Frank  kneeled  down  to  examine  it. 

"It  is  blood!  Old  dried  blood!"  he  cried.  "See 
there  it  is  again  on  the  next  stone,"  holding  the  light 
down  at  arm's  length. 

"Look  at  this!  there  are  the  prints  of  bloody 
fingers  at  the  very  threshold,  on  the  panel!"  Aphra 
exclaimed  excitedly.  "What  can  it  mean?" 

"I  will  take  the  candle  and  examine  all  the  steps 
down  to  the  bottom,"  he  replied. 

Holding  the  light  in  one  hand  he  slowly  descended 
*  by  aid  of  the  rope.  Aphra  could  see  the  little  flame 
growing  dimmer  and  dimmer.  What  a  deep,  narrow, 
yawning  abyss  it  seemed.  By  and  by  the  light  grew 
brighter  again.  He  came  back,  carefully  examining 
the  marks  as  he  ascended. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  think  it  means?  That  the 
countess  was  murdered  in  there,  instead  of  commit- 
ing  suicide;  and  that  the  murderer  left  by  this  way. 
The  blood  spots  grow  fainter,  further  down.  The 
most  distinct  one  is  up  here  on  the  panel.  The 
fingers  are  quite  plainly  marked  up  here  and  half  way 
down  you  can  scarcely  trace  the  outline.  If  the  blood 
came  from  an  injured  hand,  the  marks  below  would 
be  the  more  distinct. 

"Then  as  another  proof  that  it  must  have  been  a 
person  descending  the  steps,  the  impressions  of  the 
fingers  go  to  show.  In  descending  such  a  place,  when 


1 68  The  Dark  Strain. 

one  sustains  the  weight  of  the  body  with  the  hands, 
while  getting  a  foothold,  the  fingers  would  be  brought 
down  very  flat  against  the  stone.  In  ascending,  the 
greater  pressure  is  upon  the  balls  of  the  fingers — the 
first  joint.  These  prints  are  very  flat.  Especially 
where  they  join  the  hand.  I  feel  confident  they  were 
made  by  the  person  who  murdered  the  unhappy  coun- 
tess." 

"Isn't  it  dreadful!  Poor,  poor  woman!  To  think 
she  may  have  been  sitting  here  all  unconscious,  or 
perhaps  lying  asleep  on  the  bed,  while  the  assassin 
creeps  quietly  up  that  dark  passage  and  robs  her  of 
her  life.  Then  steals  away  again  leaving  no  clue, 
whereby  he  can  be  traced.  I  wonder  who  did  it?" 

"Her  husband,  very  likely;  if  he  shut  her  up  in 
here.  Doubtless  he  knew  of  the  secret  entrance  and 
she  did  not.  He  may  have  chosen  this  room,  with 
that  very  end  in  view.  He  must  have  caused  the 
opening  below  to  be  cemented  up,  after  he  committed 
the  deed." 

"What  a  pity  it  was  not  discovered  in  his  lifetime 
and  he  punished  for  it!"  rejoined  Aphra,  her  face 
flushed  with  indignation. 

Their  fertile  imaginations  supplied  every  missing 
detail,  and  they  talked  of  the  discovery  until  the  set- 
ting sun  warned  Frank  it  was  time  to  go. 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  leave  you,"  he  said  regretfully. 
"I  hope  this  discovery  will  not  upset  you,  Aphra; 
it  was  all  there  before,  you  know." 

"I  shall  not  be  frightened  by  it.    Only  the  thought 


A  Memorable  Day.  169 

of  some  one  creeping  up  there  with  a  dagger  in  hand 
is  certainly  not  a  pleasant  one." 

"I  am  sure  no  one  on  the  place  save  myself,  knows 
anything  about  the  passage.  Each  time  I  go  out,  I 
always  replace  the  stone  very  carefully.  I  do  not 
think  any  casual  observer  would  ever  discover  it." 

"Oh,  I  do  not  think  any  one  will  come  up  there  to 
harm  me.  It  is  only  the  ghastly  thoughts  of  the 
thing." 

"I  am  sorry  we  found  it,"  he  replied  simply,  not- 
ing with  grave  face,  her  quivering  lips.  "And  now, 
good  afternoon,  Aphra,  I  shall  come  again  in  the 
morning,"  he  said  reassuringly  holding  the  trembling 
hand  for  a  moment.  "I  have  enjoyed  a  most  happy 
"  clay.  It  only  lacks  my  being  able  to  take  you  out  of 
this,  and  have  your  company  in  the  house,  to  make 
it  complete.  Is  there  no  way  in  which  I  can  do  this? 
Can't  I  do  something  to  reinstate  you  in  your  rightful 
place?  It  is  so  very  absurd  in  uncle  to  lock  you  up 
here  like  a  naughty  child." 

"No,  there  is  nothing,"  she  replied  shaking  her 
head.  "I  will  not  accept  his  terms.  I  am  determined 
to  fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end.  I  shall  write  my 
mother  to-night,  and  get  you  to  mail  it  to-morrow 
for  me.  I  am  sure  she  will  lose  no  time  in  flying  to 
my  rescue.  I  shall  not  be  a  prisoner  a  week  longer. 
But  if  I  were  obliged  to  remain  here  my  life  time, 
I  would,  in  preference  to  so  lowering  my  self-respect 
as  to  receive  as  equals  the  beasts  of  men  whose  com- 
pany he  thrusts  upon  me.  I  am  in  his  power,  I  know, 
and  must  submit  to  a  certain  degree  or  take  the  con- 


170  The  Dark  Strain. 

sequences.  I  have  taken  the  consequences  thus  far. 
But  I  do  not  propose  to  remain  here  much  longer. 
Should  something  interfere  to  prevent  my  mother 
from  rescuing  me,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  secret 
passage,  some  night,  and  run  away.  The  worst  of  it 
is,  I  have  no  money  nor  proper  clothing  up  here  for 
such  an  escapade.  Then,  too,  I  am  an  utter  stranger 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  Mr.  Westlake  never 
took  me  off  the  place  after  I  arrived." 

"I  will  engage  to  bring  you  anything  you  wish  from 
your  room.  I  can  bring  your  clothing  up,  piece  by 
piece.  I  will  help  you  get  away.  If  you  have  no 
money,  I  will  steal  some  from  uncle  for  you,"  declared 
Frank  emphatically. 

Aphra  could  not  suppress  a  smile. 

"I  have  money  and  jewels  in  my  room ;  but  I  am 
afraid  if  you  removed  them,  they  would  be  missed. 
I  am  willing  to  remain  here  for  the  present  and  see 
if  my  mother  does  not  effect  my  release.  If  she  does 
not,  I  will  make  good  my  escape  before  you  return 
home." 

"Really  I  must  go  now.  I  have  stayed  too  long 
already.  I  will  have  to  hustle  to  get  ready  for  sup- 
per," with  another  warm  pressure  of  the  hand  he  was 
gone. 


Suspected.  171 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SUSPECTED. 

So  the  days  passed  by.  Every  morning  Mr.  West- 
lake  with  stately  tread  and  benignant  smile,  entered 
Aphra's  door  and  asked  the  self-same  question.  Every 
^•morning  the  self-same  answer  awaited  him.  Every 
morning  Frank's  brown  head  would  be  thrust  out  of 
the  wardrobe  door  to  be  greeted  as  warmly  as  Mr. 
Westlake's  whitened  locks  were  coldly  received. 

Many  and  many  an  hour  was  spent  most  pleasurably 
by  the  two  young  people.  Aphra's  letter  had  been 
written  and  dispatched,  but  the  looked-for  answer  did 
not  come.  Still  Aphra  did  not  grieve  as  much  as 
might  be  expected  over  the  ominous  silence.  In  truth 
she  was  well  content  to  remain  a  prisoner,  so  long  as 
she  had  such  a  congenial  companion. 

In  all  the  time  she  had  never  spoken  of  Mr.  West- 
lake  as  her  husband ;  yet  it  never  once  occurred  to 
her  to  doubt  Frank's  being  well  aware  of  the  fact. 
She  keenly  appreciated  his  delicacy  in  not  mentioning 
it  to  her. 

Every  morning  when  she  arose  from  her  bed,  she 


172  The  Dark  Strain. 

counted  the  hours  till  he  would  come.  Every  evening 
she  looked  forward  to  the  morning.  Once  he  waited 
until  long  past  the  hour.  He  did  not  come.  She 
grew  restless  and  uneasy.  Until  then  she  had  not 
realized  how  much  store  she  had  set  by  his  daily 
visits.  Could  it  be  she  was  looking  forward  too 
eagerly?  No,  it  was  not  that,  she  was  sure.  It  was 
just  that  her  imprisonment  had  become  so  irksome, 
any  change  was  a  relief.  Was  she  growing  to  care 
for  him  more  than  was  right?  Certainly  not.  She 
was  a  married  woman. 

And  in  that  consisted  her  armor  of  defense.  In 
her  innocence,  it  was  impossible  for  a  married  woman 
to  ever  give  any  other  man  a  second  thought.  She 
was  married  and  there  was  the  end  of  it.  While 
Frank ;  did  he  not  entertain  any  idea  of  love  for  this 
hapless  girl?  Ah  yes,  he  knew  it  and  gloried  in  it. 
He  was  so  proud,  so  happy  in  his  love.  She  was 
so  beautiful,  so  sweet  and  lovable.  There  would  be 
no  demur  on  the  part  of  his  mother  concerning  her 
birth.  She  was  as  highly  born  and  bred  as  his  mother 
herself.  His  peerless  Aphra. 

Before  he  went  home  he  would  aid  her  to  escape 
to  her  mother.  Afterward  he  would  tell  her  of  his 
love  and  make  a  home  for  her.  What  if  they  did  have 
no  money.  It  would  be  a  rare  pleasure  to  work  for 
her.  She  had  no  false  pride  about  work.  She  would 
encourage  him  in  his  labor.  It  would  be  a  labor  of 
love.  He  would  ask  his  uncle's  permission  to  marry 
her,  as  a  matter  of  form ;  but  if  he  refused,  he  should 
wed  her  all  the  same.  If  his  uncle  were  her  guardian, 


Suspected.  173 

he  had  no  right  to  withhold  his  consent  to  a  suitable 
marriage  for  her. 

Anyway  he  had  forfeited  his  right  to  control  her 
actions  by  his  treatment  of  her.  Surely  her  mother 
could  not  know  of  it,  or  she  would  never  permit  it. 
How  had  she  come  to  trust  her  daughter  to  him  so 
completely  anyway.  An  old  man  keeping  bachelor's 
hall  was  no  fit  companion  for  a  young  girl. 

Puzzle  as  he  might,  over  the  inexplicable  problem, 
he  could  arrive  at  no  plausible  solution.  Still,  to  his 
man's  mind,  things  did  not  look  so  incongruous  and 
impossible  as  they  would  to  a  woman.  Both  these 
young  people  laid  their  plans  and  marked  out  their 
courses  for  future  action,  wholly  forgetting:  "The 
best  laid  plans  o'  mice  and  men  gang  aft  aglee." 
Man  proposes ;  God  disposes.  An  awakening  such  as 
neither  ever  dreamed  of  was  hurrying  onward.  The 
dark  cloud  brewing  over  the  fateful  houses  was  lower- 
ing every  day. 

Frank  had  according  to  his  promise  entered  the 
sacred  precincts  of  Aphra's  room,  to  secure  some 
money  for  her  against  the  time  she  should  need  it. 
He  chose  a  time  when  his  uncle  was  away  from  the 
place  on  business  and  Mrs.  Jicks  busily  engaged  about 
her  duties. 

The  room  seemed  almost  like  a  shrine  to  him,  in 
its  suggestiveness  of  her  presence.  His  eyes  lingered 
lovingly  around  on  her  possessions.  The  toilet  table, 
containing  the  dozens  of  dainty  notions  in  which  wo- 
man's heart  delights :  the  partly  opened  closet  door, 
half  displaying,  half  hiding  the  lovely  gowns ;  a  dainty 


174  The  Dark  Strain. 

pair  of  slippers  peeping  out  from  under  the  bed,  and 
the  delicate  fan  lying  on  the  dressing  case  among  num- 
erous other  trifles,  all  spoke  eloquently  of  the  lovely 
prisoner  in  the  tower. 

Opening  the  top  drawer,  he  saw  the  purse  she  had 
told  him  of.  Placing  it  in  his  pocket,  he  took  up  the 
jewel  case.  "I  will  take  this,  too;  they  will  not  miss 
it.  They  can't  be  brutal  enough  to  ransack  her  room. 
She  has  a  right  to  what  belongs  to  her  surely,"  and 
he  pocketed  the  jewel  case. 

Scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when  he  heard  a  step  on 
the  stairs.  Dropping  down  on  the  floor  he  crouched 
against  the  wall,  until,  to  his  great  relief,  the  steps 
passed  the  door  and  entered  his  uncle's  room.  "It 
is  Mrs.  Jicks.  I  will  have  to  cut  and  run  while  she 
is  in  there."  Hastily  pulling  off  his  shoes,  he  crept  out 
into  the  hallway  and  sped  on  to  his  room,  reaching 
it  in  safety. 

That  evening  as  Mr.  Westlake  sat  in  his  Hbrary, 
after  Frank  had  retired,  Mrs.  Jicks  entered  the  room. 
She  was  greeted  with  a  pleasant  smile,  as  he  placed  a 
chair  for  her. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear  Jicks,  and  how  have  all  things 
been  progressing  in  my  short  absence?  How  is  the 
fair  Towerster?  Frank  has  given  you  no  trouble,  I 
trust?" 

"I  don't  know  who  has  done  it,  but  the  purse  and 
some  jewelry  are  missing  from  Mrs.  Westlake's  room," 
gloomily  replied  the  housekeeper. 

"Missing?    How?" 

"How !    How  do  I  know  ?    I  went  in  there  this  after- 


Suspected.  1 75 

noon  to  look  after  the  things,  and  they  were  gone. 
That  is  all  I  know  about  it." 

"Ahem!  My  dear  Jicks — you — you  didn't  go  in 
to  look  at  them  yourself,  did  you  now  ?" 

"What  do  you  mean!  Do  you  think  I  have  stolen 
them  ?"  she  demanded,  glaring  savagely  at  him. 

"Softly,  Isabelle,  softly.  I  would  not  call  it  steal- 
ing, but  I  happen  to  know  how  very  fond  of  jewelry 
you  are." 

"Well,  I  didn't  take  them,  and  I  don't  know  who  did. 
If  I  did  I  would  wring  the  neck  of  the  thief,"  and  she 
looked  as  though  she  meant  every  word  she  said. 

"You  are  very  zealous  and  energetic  about  it,  my 
dear  Jicks,  seeing  they  are  another  lady's  jewels,  and 
*  you  did  not  want  them  for  yourself,"  remarked  Mr. 
Westlake  with  a  sarcastic  smile.  "It  must  have  been 
some  of  the  servants.  It  will  be  well  to  lock  the  door 
and  guard  against  further  depredations." 

"Suppose  it  was  Frank?" 

"Frank !  Nonsense,  he  is  the  soul  of  honor.  What 
would  he  do  such  a  thing  for?  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Jicks, 
I  think  we  had  better  lay  it  on  the  servants.  It  sounds 
so  much  more  plausible,  you  know."  Mr.  Westlake 
smiled  at  his  housekeeper  with  his  half  closed  eyes, 
in  a  cunning,  crafty  leer. 

The  hot  blood  again  mounted  to  her  face  and  her 
black  eyes  snapped. 

"You  can  lay  it  to  whom  you  choose.  I  will  not 
be  insulted  by  y&u,  Harmon  Westlake.  I  came  in  here 
to  give  you  a  friendly  warning,  and  you  insult  me  by 
insinuating  I  am  a  thief." 


176  The  Dark  Strain. 

She  wheeled  around  to  leave  the  room,  when  he 
coolly  stepped  between  her  and  the  door. 

"Not  so  fast,  Isabelle,  not  so  fast.  Don't  be  hasty 
now.  Think  a  moment.  Count  five  and  twenty,  then 
tell  me  what  your  warning  was." 

"I  will  not!  Let  me  pass.  May  the  consequences 
of  your  folly  be  upon  your  own  head.  What  do  I 
care!" 

"Isabelle!" 

Instantly  at  the  tone  and  look  she  became  passive. 
The  light  shone  in  his  eyes  which  she  had  never  yet 
been  able  to  withstand.  The  tone  was  in  his  voice 
which  had  conquered  her  many  a  time  before.  That 
look  and  that  tone  had  made  her  a  willing  captive, 
years  and  years  before.  By  them  she  was  bound  to 
him,  to  do  whatsoever  he  willed.  By  them  she  had 
been  led  through  years  of  sin  and  unlawful  deeds. 
Her  heart,  a  captive,  held  enthralled  every  power  of 
her  being.  This  was  the  weak  point  in  the  hardened 
armor  of  Isabelle  Jicks. 

"Harmon,  you  should  not  try  me  so.  I  cannot  stand 
it." 

"Then  you  must  not  try  me,  Isabella,  7  cannot  stand 
it.  Now  what  was  it  you  were  going  to  tell  me?" 

"I  dare  say  you  will  not  put  any  credence  in  it.  I 
thought  it  might  be  Frank.  He  is  away  so  much  of 
the  time.  Every  morning  he  disappears  and  I  am 
afraid  he  may  have  discovered  her  in  some  way,  and 
taken  the  purse  and  jewels  to  aid  her  to  escape." 

"How  could  it  be  possible?  There  is  no  way  of 
getting  up  there,  save  by  the  one  door.  You  know  it 


Suspected.  177 

is  locked  with  that  complicated  lock,  which  no  other 
key  can  open." 

"Notwithstanding,  I  think  there  is  something  in 
the  wind.  She  is  as  cheerful,  and  smiling  as  she  could 
be  if  she  were  at  home  with  her  mother ;  in  that  ghostly 
chamber,  it  could  not  be  possible  unless  some  exhilarat- 
ing influence  were  at  work.  He  may  have  seen  her 
face  at  a  window,  and  she  may  have  dropped  him  a 
note,  or  something  like  that." 

"I  cannot  believe  it.  It  is  highly  improbable.  Still, 
it  will  be  well  to  be  on  the  lookout.  Keep  the  door  of 
her  own  room  locked,  and  I  will  keep  an  eye  on  Frank." 

Frank,  who  sat  outside  the  library  door,  on  the 
staircase,  smiled  to  himself  as  he  heard  the  decision 
^arrived  at.  He  had  heard  the  loud,  angry  tones  of 
Mrs.  Jicks,  and  creeping  stealthily  down  the  stair, 
had  heard  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation.  As  he 
had  mistrusted,  they  were  very  evidently  talking  of 
Aphra,  and  had  discovered  the  loss  of  the  jewels  and 
purse. 

"Keep  an  eye  on  me,  will  he?  The  old  rascal.  I 
will  outwit  him  for  once.  I  must  get  some  more 
things  out  of  that  room  for  her  before  they  lock  it  up 
with  some  of  their  infernal  keys." 

He  quickly  re-entered  his  room,  and  procuring  his 
bicycle  lamp,  passed  at  once  into  Aphra's  chamber, 
softly  closing  the  door  behind  him.  He  lighted  the 
lamp,  carefully  shielding  its  rays,  and  listening  in- 
tently, prosecuted  his  search. 

"Here  is  a  hat  and  coat ;  I  will  take  this  mackintosh, 
too,  and  these  rubbers.  Perhaps  I  had  better  take  these 


178  The  Dark  Strain. 

shoes  and  gloves.  Now  which  dress  will  she  want? 
One  plain  and  serviceable,  I  suppose.  Hark!  There 
comes  that  fiend  of  a  Jicks!" 

Hastily  secreting  his  light,  he  pulled  the  closet  door 
nearly  shut,  and  with  palpitating  heart,  listened  to  the 
sounds.  Mrs.  Jicks  entered  the  room,  giving  a  scru- 
tinizing glance  about  her,  under  the  bed  and  all 
around.  She  went  to  the  dressing  case  and  opened 
the  top  drawer,  fumbling  among  its  contents.  Ap- 
parently dissatisfied,  she  threw  open  the  lid  of  a  large 
trunk  and  continued  her  search. 

Through  the  crack  of  the  closet  door,  Frank 
watched  every  move.  To  his  intense  astonishment,  she 
laid  out  a  white  bridal  gown  and  veil,  a  contemptible 
sneer  curling  her  lips  as  she  touched  them.  Presently 
she  drew  forth  a  small  morocco  case,  and  springing 
it  open,  exposed  to  view  a  beautiful  set  of  pearls. 

"He  gave  me  the  name,  I  will  help  myself  to  the 
game,"  she  muttered,  placing  the  case  in  her  bosom. 

She  returned  the  gown  and  veil,  closed  the  trunk, 
and  with  one  more  look  around,  left  the  room,  locking 
the  door  after  her. 

Frank  came  out  of  his  hiding  place  and  sat  down. 
to  recover  his  wits. 

"Now  what  does  that  dress  mean?  She  must  have 
been  about  to  be  married  when  she  was  locked  up  in 
the  tower.  Perhaps  that  was  one  reason  of  her  being 
locked  up.  Then  she  must  have  a  lover,"  he  thought, 
his  face  falling,  "and  I  could  have  sworn  she  loved: 
me." 

He  sat  with  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands,  struggling 


Suspected.  1 79 

manfully  with  his  sorrow.  By  and  by  he  raised  his 
haggard  face,  a  light  of  determination  shining  in  his 
eyes. 

"Well,  that  does  not  alter  the  fact  of  her  needing 
my  help,  and  she  shall  have  it  without  stint." 

He  returned  to  his  task,  selecting  a  plain  navy  blue 
serge  traveling  gown.  He  wrapped  up  the  bundle, 
tying  it  securely  with  a  stout  string. 

"I  must  get  these  up  to  her  to-night,  and  lay  low 
for  a  few  days.  Of  course,  I  shall  have  to  get  out  of 
the  window  and  drop  down  from  the  verandah  roof. 
I  only  hope  one  of  my  windows  is  unfastened,  so  I 
can  get  in  when  I  come  back." 

Hiding  his  lamp  in  an  inner  coat  pocket,  he  lifted 
•the  window  noiselessly  and  stepped  out  upon  the  roof 
of  the  verandah.  Walking  to  the  further  corner,  so  as 
to  be  as  far  as  possible  away  from  the  occupied  rooms, 
he  slid  down  the  corner  post,  by  one  hand,  reaching 
the  ground  in  safety.  A  few  minutes  brought  him  In- 
side the  secret  passage. 

"I  cannot  climb  up  with  this  huge  bundle.  I  will 
tie  it  to  the  rope  and  pull  it  up  afterward." 

He  climbed  up  the  rough  steps  to  the  sliding  panel. 
Gently  rapping,  he  called  "her  name.  "Aphra!  Aphra! 
Don't  be  frightened,  it  is  I." 

Sitting  beside  the  little  table,  deeply  engrossed  in 
the  last  book  he  had  brought  her,  Aphra  heard  the  call. 
She  arose  with  throbbing  heart  and  opened  the  ward- 
robe door. 

"Why,  Frank!  What  is  the  matter?"  she  cried,  in 
consternation  at  sight  of  his  woebegone  face. 


i8o  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Nothing.  Don't  be  frightened.  I  just  came  to 
say  that  I  took  your  purse  and  some  jewelry  this  after- 
noon, from  your  room,  and  that  lynx-eyed  Jicks  missed 
them.  I  heard  her  and  uncle  talking  about  it.  She 
suspects  me,  but  knows  nothing  of  the  truth.  They 
decided  to  keep  the  room  locked,  and  Uncle  Harmon 
said  he  would  keep  an  eye  on  me.  So  I  went  back  to 
the  room  and  got  a  bundle  of  things,  I  thought  you 
might  need.  Mrs.  Jicks  came  in,  but  I  hid  in  the 
closet.  She  appropriated  a  set  of  pearls  from  your 
trunk,  then  locked  the  door  on  me.  After  she  was 
gone  I  finished  my  job  and  got  out  of  the  window 
onto  the  verandah,  and  so  onto  the  ground.  I  knew  I 
must  get  them  to  you  to-night,  for  I  dare  not  come 
again  unless  I  have  a  clear  coast.  They  are  like  two 
foxes.  It  will  take  all  my  wits  to  baffle  them." 

"Oh,  how  good  of  you !"  cried  Aphra,  fervently 
pressing  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  her  eyes  shining 
with  tears.  "How  much  trouble  you  have  taken;  how 
many  risks  you  have  run  for  me !  How  can  I  ever  thank 
you  enough !" 

Poor  fellow,  his  own  eyes  filled  as  he  thought  of 
his  shattered  love  dream.  Bravely  shaking  off  his 
grief,  he  said :  "It  is  nothing.  If  you  only  escape 
I  shall  be  more  than  paid." 

"I  shall  miss  your  visits  so  dreadfully.  They  have 
been  the  oasis  in  my  desert." 

There  was  a  ring  of  genuine  grief  in  her  voice,  as 
well  as  in  the  look  of  sadness  in  her  face.  Frank 
noted  both,  and  his  heart  beat  more  rapidly  at  the 
thought. 


Suspected.  181 

"I  shall  not  leave  the  place  without  seeing  you  again, 
if  I  have  to  come  in  the  dead  of  the  night.  Don't  you 
leave  here  until  you  do  see  me.  Be  sure  to  hide  the 
bundle  where  that  hag  cannot  find  it.  Should  she 
find  out  the  things  are  missing,  she  will  move  heaven 
and  earth  to  find  them.  I  will  pull  them  up  now." 

Soon  the  precious  bundle  was  in  Aphra's  hands,  and 
the  jewel  case  and  purse  lay  upon  the  table. 

"I  must  go  now,  good-night." 

"Good-night,  Frank,  my  dearest,  best  of  friends," 
she  responded,  while  two  bright  teardrops  ran  down 
her  cheeks. 

His  heart  smote  him  sorely  at  the  sight  of  them. 

"Cheer  up,  Aphra,  I  shall  come  again  the  very  first 
chance  I  have.  Every  day  that  I  cannot  come  I  will 
walk  out  in  sight  of  your  window,  even  though  I  dare 
not  look  up.  Good-night,  and  be  of  good  cheer." 
With  one  lingering  pressure  of  the  hand,  he  turned  and 
groped  his  way  down  the  narrow  staircase. 

When  he  had  gone  Aphra  took  the  jewels  and  purse 
to  the  wardrobe,  secreting  them  in  the  pocket  of  the 
blood-stained  brocade  gown. 

"She  will  never  look  for  them  there.  The  bundle 
I  will  fasten  securely  to  the  upper  end  of  the  rope  and 
leave  it  in  the  passage.  It  will  be  impossible  for  her 
to  find  it,  since  she  knows  nothing  of  the  place.  How 
lonely  it  will  be  without  his  coming  in  every  day." 

After  completing  her  task  to  her  satisfaction,  she 
prepared  herself  for  rest,  and  blowing  out  the  light, 
crept  into  bed. 


1 82  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

DISCOVERIES. 

THE  next  morning  Mrs.  Jicks  exploded  a  bombshell 
at  Mr.  Westlake's  feet  by  informing  him  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  clothing  from  Aphra's  room. 

"They  must  have  been  taken  during  the  night,  for 
one  of  the  windows  was  unfastened,"  she  declared. 

"I  don't  see  how  it  would  be  possible  for  Frank,  or 
anybody  else,  to  get  anything  of  that  kind  to  her.  I 
would  stake  my  life  on  it — that  no  one  could  unfasten 
those  locks  on  the  tower  doors,  and  the  windows  are 
barred.  Such  a  package  could  not  be  gotten  through 
them,  even  piece  by  piece." 

"Her  room  in  the  tower  must  be  searched.  She  has 
no  place  to  hide  them  where  they  could  not  be  found." 

"When  you  send  up  her  dinner,  you  may  put  some 
of  the  'peaceful'  in  the  coffee.  When  it  gets  in  its 
work,  we  will  search  the  room." 

When  Aphra  awoke,  her  first  care  was  to  make  sure 
of  the  safety  of  the  treasure.  Yes,  they  were  all  right. 
The  clothing  lay  snugly  in  the  very  position  she  had 
placed  it,  and  the  contents  of  the  pocket  were  still  in- 


Discoveries.  183 

tact.  She  sighed  heavily  as  she  thought  of  the  long, 
weary  day  which  must  drag  by,  with  no  sight  of 
Frank's  cheery  face. 

"How  very  pale  he  looked  last  night,"  she  thought. 
"He  must  have  been  terribly  frightened  at  the  risk  he 
took.  Suppose  he  had  not  heard  them  talking  and  Mr. 
Westlake  had  watched  him  coming  up  here.  All  my 
chance  of  escape  would  have  been  lost.  I  trust  all 
my  hopes  to  that  secret  stairway.  It  will  be  a  danger- 
ous and  difficult  thing  for  me  to  do,  yet,  I  would  try 
it,  were  it  twice  as  dangerous  and  difficult.  How 
much  I  owe  him  for  all  the  risks  he  has  run,  and  all 
the  trouble  he  has  taken.  I  shall  miss  him  sorely." 

The  morning  wore  on.  She  read  a  little  in  her  book, 
.sewed  a  little  on  the  patchwork  quilt,  and  thought  a 
great  deal,  of  her  old  home,  her  mother  and  Sarah, 
wondering  sadly  why  her  mother  had  not  come  to  her 
rescue.  Was  the  dreadful  secret  of  such  dire  import 
that  she  dared  not  come  ?  To  her  intense  surprise  and 
relief,  Mr.  Westlake  did  not  make  his  accustomed 
visit.  "He  is  watching  Frank,"  she  thought. 

She  felt  relieved,  when  she  heard  Mrs.  Jicks  coming 
with  her  dinner.  A  self-satisfied  smile  illumined  the 
usually  overcast  countenance  of  the  housekeeper,  as 
she  set  down  the  tray  and  took  her  leave. 

Aphra  ate  her  dinner  with  little  relish.  Nothing 
seemed  to  taste  good.  She  nibbled  at  each  different 
condiment,  and  drank  a  few  swallows  of  the  coffee. 

"It  tastes  bitter.  I  will  throw  it  out  and  take  a  drink 
of  water." 

On  pouring  the  remainder  of  the  coffee  out,  she  no- 


1 84  The  Dark  Strain. 

ticed  a  fine  brown  sediment  in  the  bottom  of  the  cup. 
Touching  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  the  spoon,  she 
found  it  quite  bitter.  The  thought  of  its  being  a  drug 
flashed  into  her  mind. 

"My  God !"  she  cried  in  despair,  "what  are  they  go- 
ing to  do  with  me  now  ?  I  have  drunk  some  of  it,  but 
perhaps  not  enough  to  lose  all  consciousness." 

As  she  put  the  cup  down,  she  could  feel  the  dull 
lethargy  creeping  through  her  veins.  Mechanically  she 
staggered  to  the  bed  and  lay  down  upon  it,  a  heavy 
roaring  in  her  ears.  After  what  seemed  to  her  an 
endless  time,  she  was  indistinctly  aware  of  voices  in 
the  room.  She  felt  Mrs.  Jicks  bend  over  and  touch  her, 
saying:  "She's  disposed  of  for  the  present." 

She  was  conscious  of  making  a  great  effort  to  raise 
her  eyelids,  which  dragged  down  as  though  weighted 
with  lead.  She  could  hear  muffled  sounds  of  some  one 
moving  things  about. 

"I  don't  see  a  sign  of  the  missing  articles,"  Mr. 
Westlake  exclaimed  at  last.  "Maybe  they  are  tucked 
away  in  some  corner  of  this  old  wardrobe,"  and  Mrs. 
Jicks  began  pulling  out  the  contents.  She  caught  hold 
of  the  brocaded  gown,  when  her  eye  fell  upon  the 
dried  blood  stain.  With  a  hasty  exclamation  she 
dropped  it,  and  thrusting  back  the  other  garments, 
quickly  closed  the  door.  Next  she  ran  her  hands  un- 
der Aphra's  pillow,  then  turned  up  the  mattress,  rudely 
overturning  Aphra's  half  conscious  body. 

"Ah !  What  is  this  ?  Silk  patchwork ;  she  has  found 
something  to  do,  you  see,  in  spite  of  all  our  precau- 
tions," she  exclaimed,  holding  up  the  delicate  piece  of 


Discoveries.  185 

needlework  so  eloquently  suggestive  of  the  long  hours 
of  patient  labor  of  the  dainty  white  hands. 

"That  probably  accounts  for  her  cheerfulness  and 
obstinacy.  She  has  not  found  the  time  hanging  so 
heavily  on  her  hands  as  I  intended.  Take  it  away. 
She  shall  not  have  it  again.  Is  there  anything  else?" 

Mrs.  Jicks  got  down  on  her  knees  and  peered  under 
the  old-fashioned  bureau. 

"See  here !  Look  at  these  books !  Where  could  she 
have  gotten  them?" 

"Sure  enough !  A  novel  from  the  library,  and  a  copy 
of  Browning,"  replied  Mr.  Westlake,  opening  the  lat- 
ter. He  started  back,  with  an  exclamation,  followed 
by  an  oath,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  fly  leaf. 
*  "There !  Now,  will  you  believe  what  I  have  told  you, 
Harmon  Westlake?  Tell  me  now  that  it  wasn't  he! 
Accuse  me  of  being  a  thief !"  cried  Mrs.  Jicks,  in  de- 
lighted triumph. 

Mr.  Westlake  scratched  his  honorable  head  in  per- 
plexity. "That  beats  the  devil !  There  certainly  is 
but  one  entrance  to  this  room,  and  these  must  have 
come  through  that  entrance.  Yet  the  lock  does  not 
look  as  though  it  had  been  tampered  with.  Are  you 
sure  that  key  has  never  been  out  of  your  possession 
for  one  instant?" 

"As  sure  as  I  am  of  my  life!  Those  books  may 
have  been  brought  up  through  one  of  the  windows! 
The  dress  and  other  things  are  certainly  not  here. 
He  must  have  hidden  them  somewhere  ready  for  her. 
The  books  could  be  pulled  in  through  between  the 
bars  of  the  windows." 


1 86  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Yes,  but  she  would  have  no  string  to  let  down  for 
them." 

"She  could  have  easily  torn  up  something  to  make 
one." 

"Well,  that  is  the  only  solution  we  can  arrive  at  for 
the  present.  I  will  watch  that  young  scapegrace 
mighty  close.  I  will  see  if  he  hangs  around  this  part 
of  the  buildings.  If  I  catch  him  at  it,  he  shall  be  well 
paid  for  his  meddling."  Mr.  Westlake  walked  to  the 
eastern  window  and  looked  out. 

"By  God!  There  he  is!" 

And  there  poor,  unlucky  Frank  was,  strolling  along, 
trying  to  look  unconscious,  yet  casting  furtive  glances 
up  at  that  very  window.  All  day  he  had  studiously 
avoided  approaching  the  tower.  He  had  gone  fishing 
with  Pete  in  the  morning,  and  roamed  about  after  din- 
ner until  he  was  sure  his  uncle  and  Mrs.  Jicks  were 
both  safely  out  of  the  way. 

He  had  loitered  along  toward  the  tower  in  hopes  of 
catching  a  glimpse  of  Aphra.  Instead  he  caught  a 
fleeting  glance  of  his  uncle's  hoary  head.  His  heart 
jumped  to  his  throat  and  his  face  paled ;  still  he 
forced  himself  to  saunter  leisurely  out  of  sight.  Creep- 
ing bacK  up  close  along  the  walls  of  the  house,  he 
entered  the  ruined  tower. 

"He  is  up  there,  the  villain!  I  will  go  up  and  find 
out  what  he  is  up  to.  He  shall  not  harm  one  hair  of 
her  head." 

With  trembling  hands  and  boiling  blood  Frank 
mounted  the  rough  stairway.  As  he  neared  the  room 


Discoveries.  187 

he  could  hear  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Jicks,  as  well  as  that  of 
his  uncle;  but  of  Aphra — not  a  sound. 

"I  will  send  him  home  this  very  day,"  he  heard  his 
uncle  say.  "I  would  like  to  give  him  a  good  sound 
thrashing,  the  impudent  puppy!  Bring  those  books 
and  that  rag"— pointing  in  disgust  to  Aphra's  work. 
"I  shall  find  some  more  potent  means  of  subduing  her, 
after  I  get  rid  of  him.  If  nothing  else  answers,  I  shall 
tell  her  the  secret,  to  show  her " 

They  passed  out  and  locked  the  door.  The  whole 
truth  flashed  upon  Frank. 

"They  have  found  me  out,"  he  groaned.  "How 
could  they  have  discovered  this  passage?  It  was 
closed  just  as  I  left  it  below,  and  it  is  closed  all  right 
.Tip  here." 

He  slid  the  panel  back  and  entered  the  room,  to 
find  Aphra  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  staring  with  wide 
open  eyes  and  ghastly  face. 

"Oh,  Frank,  he  is  going  to  do  something  dreadful 
to  you.  Run  away  while  you  can." 

"He  cannot  harm  me,  Aphra,  I  am  not  in  his  power. 
How  white  you  are.  How  you  tremble.  What  did  he 
say  to  you?" 

"Nothing  to  me.  They  drugged  my  coffee,  but  I 
only  drank  a  little.  I  could  hear  them  all  the  time. 
I  recovered  my  senses  just  as  they  were  talking  about 
you.  Oh,  go,  Frank,  for  my  sake,  right  away.  I  will 
steal  out  to-night." 

"How  can  you?    They  will  watch  the  place." 

"They  did  not  discover  the  passage.    They  think  you 


1 88  The  Dark  Strain. 

sent  me  the  books  through  the  window.  They  did 
not  find  anything  else." 

"Thank  God!  The  way  is  still  open.  I  will  wait 
outside  for  you  to-night.  We  can  walk  to  the  depot. 
There  is  a  night  train  at  1 1 :3O.  We  can  be  miles 
away  before  they  discover  the  flight.  I  will  take  you 
home  to  your  mother  and  then  return  to  my  own 
home." 

"I  dare  not  go  home,  Frank.  I  must  go  away  some- 
where among  strangers,  where  I  can  bury  my  identity. 
He  has  my  mother  in  his  power,  through  that  secret 
he  spoke  of.  Were  I  to  go  home  he  would  follow  me 
and  force  me  to  come  back,  or  ruin  her  forever.  While 
if  I  go  away  he  can  gain  nothing  by  exposing  it,  and 
will  most  likely  keep  his  hold  over  her  as  a  means 
of  forcing  her  to  find  me  and  compel  me  to  return  to 
him.  As  long  as  I  can  hide  myself,  I  do  not  think 
he  will  use  his  knowledge  to  her  injury." 

"What  is  the  secret,  Aphra?    What  is  it  about?" 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  idea.  Mother  has  always 
kept  it  carefully  from  me.  It  is  about  something  that 
happened  in  our  family  years  and  years  before  my 
mother  was  born." 

"Then  both  you  and  she  are  innocent.  How  could  it 
harm  her?" 

"I  do  not  know.  It  is  something  very  terrible,  you 
may  be  sure,  to  cause  such  a  loving,  indulgent  mother 
as  she  was,  to  force  me  into  marrying  him,  as  the 
price  of  his  silence." 

"Marrying  him!"  screamed  Frank,  staring  at  her 


Discoveries.  189 

with  eyes  dilated  with  incredulous  horror.  Then  in 
a  low,  hoarse  voice,  he  added : 

"Aphra,  can  it  be  possible  that  you  are  his  wife!" 

She  laid  her  hand  quickly  on  his  arm,  and  cried,  in 
a  voice  of  earnest  entreaty :  "Oh,  Frank,  don't  tell  me 
that  you  did  not  know !" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  look  that  smote  her  to  the 
very  heart's  core,  then  dropping  his  head  upon  his 
arms,  sat  silent  and  motionless.  The  look  and  the  ac- 
tion lifted  the  veil.  The  color  rushed  over  her  white 
face,  and  a  tender,  sorrowful  look  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  whispered.  "I  thought,  of 
course,  you  knew,  or  I  should  have  certainly  told  you 
that  very  first  day." 

By  and  by,  when  once  more  he  was  master  of  him- 
self, he  raised  his  head,  and  catching  both  her  hands, 
kissed  them  passionately. 

"Forgive  me,  Aphra,  for  the  pain  I  have  caused 
you.  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  try  to  hide  my  se- 
cret now.  You  have  read  it.  I  was  so  thoroughly 
unprepared  for  any  such  news,  it  completely  un- 
manned me.  Believe  me,  dear,  if  I  had  heard  of 
it,  in  any  other  way,  I  should  not  have  been  weak 
enough  to  let  you  know  it.  I  have  loved  you,  Aphra, 
and  have  indulged  in  many  sweet,  lover's  fancies  of 
winning  you  for  my  own.  But  it  is  all  over  now.  I 
shall  try  to  overcome  it.  If  I  cannot  be  your  lover, 
will  you  let  me  be  your  brother,  dear?" 

Hot,  bright  tears  fell  from  her  eyes,  upon  his  hand. 
Her  bosom  heaved  with  suppressed  grief.  He  looked 
again  at  her  sad  face  and  downcast  eyes. 


190  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Aphra,"  he  said  gently,  "have  I  grieved  you  in 
telling  you  this?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  meet  his  gaze. 

"Sweetheart,  look  at  me."  But  she  never  raised  her 
eyes.  "Oh,  Aphra,  is  it  true?" 

Still  no  reply,  only  a  heightened  color  in  her  cheeks. 
Gently  he  took  her  face  in  his  hand  and  turned  it  up- 
ward. The  fluttering  eyelids  raised,  revealing  the 
wealth  of  love  and  sorrow  hidden  beneath. 

"My  darling!"  sadly  and  tenderly,  he  printed  a  kiss 
on  the  quivering  lips. 

"Oh,  Frank!"  shrinking  away  in  affright.  "You 
forget  I  am  another  man's  wife." 

"There  was  no  wrong  in  it,  dear,  either  to  you  or 
to  him.  I  would  not  wrong  you  for  the  whole  world. 
And  I  doubt  if  any  one  could  wrong  such  a  villain 
as  he.  His  conduct  is  more  dastardly,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, than  even  I  thought  it  was." 

That  instant  the  key  turned  in  the  lock.  Frank 
sprang  to  his  feet  too  late  to  flee.  The  door  opened 
and  Mr.  Westlake,  followed  by  Mrs.  Jicks,  stood 
within  the  room,  smiling  sardonically  at  the  frightened 
pair. 

"A  nice  predicament,  truly.  My  honorable  nepheiv, 
making  love  to  my  virtuous  wife"  he  sneered.  "It's 
no  wonder,  Mrs.  Westlake,  you  could  hold  out  so 
long  in  rebellion  against  your  lawful  husband's  author- 
ity when  you  were  enjoying  such  meetings  as  these." 

"Take  care,  sir,  how  you  insult  this  lady !  I  will  not 
stand  by  to  hear  you  abuse  her !"  cried  Frank,  stepping 
up  to  his  uncle  with  his  hands  clinched. 


Discoveries.  191 

"You !  You  insolent  puppy !  I've  a  mind  to  throw 
you  down  the  stairs.  What  do  you  mean  by  sneaking 
about  the  house  prying  into  affairs  you  have  no  busi- 
ness with !  What  do  you  mean  by  making  love  to  my 
wife !  Say !" 

"I  never  knew  she  had  the  misfortune  of  being  your 
wife  until  about  five  minutes  ago,"  hotly  declared 
Frank. 

"Oh,  you  concealed  the  fact,  did  you?  You  little 
saint,  in  hopes  of  ensnaring  this  young  fool  and  gain- 
ing your  liberty,  I  suppose." 

"Don't  reply  to  him,  Aphra.  I  will  answer  for  you," 
Frank  said,  turning  first  to  her  and  then  to  his  uncle. 

"Oh,  indeed !  You  will,  will  you !  Well,  perhaps 
bu  won't!  Perhaps  I  may  command  my  wife  to  an- 
swer for  herself!"  replied  Mr.  Westlake,  with  a  sa- 
tanic  smile. 

"She  supposed,  of  course,  I  knew  it ;  so  nothing  was 
ever  said  on  the  subject  between  us.  It  is  all  your 
own  fault.  If  you  had  not  acted  like  a  cur  you  would 
never  have  put  her  in  here." 

For  the  first  time  during  the  interview  Mr.  Westlake 
showed  real  signs  of  anger.  He  had  been  leaning  back 
surveying  first  his  wife  and  then  his  nephew  through 
half-closed  eyelids,  with  a  cunning  leer  on  his  face. 
Now  his  steely  eyes  opened  wide  and  sent  forth  dart* 
of  rage,  his  whole  countenance  assumed  an  expression 
of  hatred. 

"Take  care,  you  young  thief,  or  I  will  brain  you !" 
he  shouted,  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

"Where  did  you  put  those  things  you  stole  from 


192  The  Dark  Strain. 

that  room  downstairs?"  broke  in  Mrs.  Jicks,  who  had 
until  now  been  a  highly  interested  spectator. 

"I  might  return  the  compliment  by  asking  you  where 
you  put  the  set  of  pearls?"  Frank  answered,  coolly. 

The  shot  told.  Her  face  became  fiery  red,  a  fact  not 
lost  upon  Mr.  Westlake. 

"Now,  young  man,  you  can  go  downstairs.  I  want 
to  have  a  little  talk  with  you.  I  will  see  you,  Mrs. 
Westlake,  later.  Au  revoir,"  bowing  himself  out  with 
an  elaborate  courtesy. 

Frank  looked  back  at  Aphra  with  a  glance  full  of 
love  and  comfort,  then  preceded  his  uncle  and  Mrs. 
Jicks  out  of  the  room  and  downstairs  out  of  hearing. 
Aphra  sank  upon  the  floor  and  wept  in  a  very  abandon- 
ment of  grief  and  terror.  She  had  scarcely  been  able 
to  control  herself  until  the  others  left.  Now  all  alone, 
with  a  sense  of  utter  desolation  upon  her,  she  gave  way 
to  her  grief.  Oh,  the  bitter  irony  of  fate.  A  wedded 
wife  and  her  heart  in  another's  keeping;  tied  for  life 
to  a  man  she  feared  and  hated,  while  one  she  loved 
and  trusted  stood  with  open  arms  to  receive  her.  Her 
life  made  such  a  desolate  blank,  when  one  of  such 
bright  promise  lay  at  her  hand,  and  she  was  powerless 
to  enter  upon  it.  Her  heart  and  his  laid  waste,  all  to 
gratify  the  evil  propensities  of  a  villain. 

It  was  very  dark  when  once  more  Aphra  looked 
about  her.  No  supper  had  been  brought  to  her,  yet  she 
did  not  feel  hungry  in  the  least.  The  thought  came 
to  her  that  she  had  not  remembered  hearing  the  door 
locked  as  the  three  went  out.  She  tried  it.  Oh,  joy ! 
it  opened  at  her  touch. 


Discoveries.  193 

"I  can  wait  until  they  are  in  bed,  then  steal  out  this 
way,"  she  thought.  "It  will  be  so  much  safer.  I  am 
afraid  I  cannot  climb  down  that  other  way.  Something 
might  prevent  Frank  from  being  there  to  help  me,  and 
if  I  should  fall  I  would  surely  be  killed.  I  wonder 
what  time  it  is — nine  o'clock.  I  will  get  ready  now. 
By  half-past  ten  I  can  leave.  I  must  go  in  time  to 
get  that  train." 

She  brought  down  the  bundle  and  opened  it,  smiling 
sadly  as  she  noticed  each  article. 

"He  has  thought  of  everything.  Dear  Frank,  how 
good  of  him." 

She  arrayed  herself  in  the  outfit,  and,  securing  the 
jewels  and  purse,  sat  down  to  wait  until  she  might 
,  safely  venture  forth.  Once  she  thought  she  heard  a 
light  step  pass  her  door.  With  bated  breath  she  list- 
ened, but  no  other  sound  met  her  ear  and  no  one  ap- 
peared. How  long  the  time  seemed.  She  counted 
the  minutes  as  they  dragged  along. 

"I  wonder  if  Frank  will  be  outside,  as  he  said  he 
would;  or  if  he  has  been  bundled  off  as  poor  Sarah 
was.  I  might  leave  some  little  word  to  tell  him  in 
case  I  do  not  see  him  and  he  should  come  here  to  find 
me." 

She  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper  found  in  her  pocket  with 
a  pencil  from  the  same  source : 

"Dear  Frank — I  have  escaped.  They  left  the  door 
unfastened.  I  leave  the  room  at  10 130.  Aphra." 

Pinning  this  in  plain  view  to  the  skirt  of  the  silver 
gray  brocade,  she  left  the  candle  lighted  and  noise- 
lessly glided  from  the  room. 


194  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MURDER  !     MURDER  ! 

A  FEW  minutes  later  a  dark  figure  emerged  from  the 
front  door  of  the  house  and  sped  down  the  avenue 
with  flying  feet.  The  face  was  ghastly  white  in  the 
moonlight.  The  eyes  were  wide  with  terror.  Breath 
came  in  short  gasps.  Compelled  soon  to  pause  for  a 
short  rest,  she  sank  down  upon  a  stone,  panting  and 
in  a  dripping  perspiration.  She  shuddered  violently, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  as  though  to  shut  out 
some  horrible  sight. 

Soon  she  arose  and  hurried  on  again.  "God  help 
me  to  reach  the  depot  in  time,"  she  fervently  prayed. 
"There  is  nothing  to  prevent  my  going  home  now,  at 
any  rate,"  with  another  shudder. 

"Home!"  How  the  very  word  thrilled  her.  How 
sweet  to  know  a  mother's  love  and  care  again  after  all 
the  bitterness  of  the  past  few  months.  Barely  six 
months  ago  she  had  been  a  happy,  care-free  girl.  What 
a  burden  of  grief  and  sorrow  she  had  borne  since 
then !  She  had  left  New  York  in  the  heat  of  summer. 
She  would  return  in  the  dead  of  winter.  There  would 
be  snow  there  and  the  air  would  be  sharp  and  keen, 


Murder!  Murder!  195 

while  here  it  was  like  late  springtime.  What  would 
her  mother  say  to  her?  She  would  surely  welcome  her 
when  she  heard  of  her  timely  release  from  the  sword 
of  Damocles  which  hung  over  her  head. 

"He  can  never  tell  that  secret  now,"  she  thought. 
"It  is  only  justice,  but  it  is  horrible  to  think  of,"  and 
she  shuddered  again.  "I  must  pull  my  veil  down  be- 
fore I  reach  the  station  so  no  one  will  know  me." 

On  she  sped  and  on,  now  running,  now  walking, 
with  her  hand  pressed  against  her  heart  as  though  to 
still  its  wild  throbbing.  On  and  on  along  the  high- 
way, passing  fields  and  hedges.  At  last  she  came  in 
sight  of  the  railway  station.  Pausing  now  to  gain 
her  breath  and  composure,  she  pulled  the  dark  silk  veil 
,  closely  over  her  face,  then  walked  quietly  on  until 
she  reached  the  platform. 

The  night  train  had  already  whistled  and  was  steam- 
ing into  the  station.  Without  entering  the  depot  she 
boarded  the  train  and  took  her  seat,  and  was  soon  be- 
ing rapidly  whirled  away  to  the  north. 

On  a  remote  part  of  the  lawn  and  near  the  tower 
behind  a  clump  of  trees,  Frank  had  kept  his  lonely 
vigil. 

"Why  doesn't  she  come?  The  light  is  burning  in 
her  room,  and  I  have  been  watching  here  for  three 
mortal  hours.  The  night  train  has  gone  before  this. 
I  must  know  where  she  is.  I  dare  not  wait  any  longer, 
even  if  they  do  see  me." 

Stealthily  he  crept  along  the  ground  in  the  direction 
of  the  tower,  listening  intently  as  he  progressed.  Once 
inside  the  ruins,  he  hastily  scrambled  up  to  Aphra's 


196  The  Dark  Strain. 

room.  It  was  empty.  He  stared  around  in  amazement. 
Softly  he  called  her  name.  No  reply.  Catching  up  the 
taper,  he  made  a  rapid  search.  "Ah,  a  note !"  Eagerly 
he  read  it.  A  cry  of  dismay  escaped  from  his  lips. 
"She  is  gone!  Gone  alone!  Oh,  Aphra,  why  could 
you  not  trust  to  me  ?  Which  way  has  she  fled  ?  Could 
she  have  taken  the  night  train?  Hardly.  It  was  a 
through  train  and  bound  for  New  York.  She  had 
said  she  could  not  go  home.  Where  had  she  gone? 
Had  she  succeeded  in  leaving  the  house  at  all?  He 
knew  his  uncle  and  Mrs.  Jicks  would  be  on  the  alert. 
Could  she  possibly  get  away  without  their  knowl- 
edge? He  feared  not. 

Torn  with  distracting  thoughts,  he  descended  to  the 
ground  again,  carrying  the  note  in  his  hand.  On  go- 
ing round  to  the  other  part  of  the  house,  he  saw  a 
light  in  the  library. 

"No,  she  could  not  have  escaped,"  he  thought.  "She 
would  be  obliged  to  pass  that  very  door." 

He  could  see  it  from  outside  the  window.  It  was 
ajar,  too.  No ;  clearly  they  had  caught  her,  or  else 
she  was  hiding  until  his  uncle  had  retired.  Perhaps 
he  and  Mrs.  Jicks  were  in  there  now  plotting  her 
further  humiliation.  He  crept  nearer  and  nearer  the 
window.  Not  a  sound  was  borne  upon  the  air.  All 
was  still;  aye,  as  still  as  death.  Peering  in  at  the 
window  he  could  see  his  uncle  sitting  with  his  back 
toward  the  window  before  the  library  table,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  as  though  asleep. 

"I  will  wait  a  while  longer.  She  may  venture  out 
by  and  by." 


Murder!  Murder!  197 

All  the  rest  of  the  house  was  dark.  The  taper  in 
Aphra's  room  had  flickered  and  gone  out.  He  strolled 
restlessly  and  wearily  about  the  lawn.  He  dared  not 
throw  his  aching  limbs  on  the  ground  for  rest,  lest 
his  sweetheart  go  by  without  seeing  him,  out  in  the 
cold,  cruel  world  to  battle  for  herself. 

He  had  parted  from  his  uncle  early  in  the  evening 
in  a  white  heat  of  anger.  Unable  to  bear  his  malicious, 
venomous  taunts  and  gross  insults  of  Aphra's  virtue, 
he  had  lost  control  of  himself  and  retorted  bitterly, 
hotly  defending  her  pure  name.  He  dared  not  enter 
the  house  again.  Round  and  round  he  walked,  hop- 
ing and  praying  that  the  light  might  be  put  out  and 
his  uncle  go  up  to  bed.  Yet  it  burned  steadily  on  as 
though  to  mock  him  in  his  misery. 

At  last  day  began  to  dawn ;  first  faint,  gray  streaks, 
slowly  growing  brighter  in  coloring;  then  assuming  a 
pink  tint,  deepening  into  rose ;  then  a  pale  yellow  light 
streaming  over  the  sky  heralding  the  approach  of  the 
sun  god.  The  light  still  burned  in  the  library,  and 
Aphra  had  not  appeared. 

The  watcher  was  pale,  haggard  and  worn  with  his 
long  night's  vigil. 

"I  cannot  endure  it  another  moment,"  he  cried,  with 
a  fierce  determination.  "I  will  go  in  there  and  ask 
where  she  is." 

He  bounded  up  on  the  verandah  and  opened  the 
front  door.  It  was  not  fastened,  but,  of  course,  the 
maids  were  astir  by  this  time.  Pushing  open  the  door, 
he  entered  the  library.  Yes,  there  he  still  sat,  reclin- 
ing in  the  same  position. 


198  The  Dark  Strain. 

"My  God!    What  is  this!    Blood!" 

The  man  lay  back  in  his  chair,  the  same  smile,  now 
chilled  in  death  upon  the  waxen  features.  A  gold 
hilted  dagger  was  thrust  in  his  heart.  His  life  blood 
had  trickled  down  his  clothing,  forming  a  pool  be- 
neath his  chair.  Mechanically  he  pulled  the  dagger 
from  the  wound. 

The  edge  of  it  was  turned  and  the  point  battered 
up.  While  he  stood  looking  at  it,  and  wondering  how 
such  a  deed  could  have  been  committed  with  a  weapon 
in  that  condition,  a  slight  sound  caused  him  to  raise 
his  eyes.  Mrs.  Jicks  stood  in  the  doorway  staring 
wildly  at  him. 

"You  have  killed  him!"  she  screamed.  "I  will  kill 
you!"  She  caught  the  dagger  from  his  hand  and  was 
in  the  very  act  of  making  a  lunge  at  him,  when  her 
eye  fell  on  the  golden  hilt.  Immediately  she  fell  upon 
her  knees,  and,  clinging  to  the  ghastly  corpse,  went 
into  a  perfect  frenzy  of  grief. 

"Oh,  Harmon !  My  love,  my  love !  To  think  this 
should  come  upon  you!  That  she  should  take  your 
precious  life !  Oh,  my  God  !  My  God !  He  is  dead ! 
What  shall  I  do !  What  shall  I  do !  If  I  could  only 
have  died  for  you,  Harmon !  I  would  gladly  have  laid 
down  my  life  for  you !  Oh,  heaven,  give  him  back  to 
me!  Give  him  back!  I  cannot  live  without  him! 
Murder !  Murder !  Murder !" 

Her  screams  brought  the  terrified  servants  to  the 
spot.  Liza  and  Sally  from  the  kitchen,  Aggie  and 
Susan  from  the  dining-room  and  chambers.  The  wild 
shrieks  even  reached  the  stable,  bringing  Jake  and 


Murder  !  Murder  !  199 

Pete.  A  silent  and  terrified  group,  they  gathered 
around  the  dreadful  sight,  shivering  with  terror  and 
eyeballs  fairly  starting  from  their  sockets.  The  maids 
cowered  behind  Mrs.  Jicks,  Liza  covered  her  head  with 
her  apron  to  shut  out  the  horrible  sight,  while  Sally, 
more  curious,  peered  on  tiptoe  at  the  ghastly  spectacle. 

"This  is  murder !"  cried  Mrs.  Jicks.  "Jake,  ride  for 
your  life  for  the  doctor  and  coroner !  Start  at  once ; 
wait  for  nothing.  As  for  you,  sir,"  turning  to  Frank, 
"don't  you  dare  to  leave  this  place." 

"I  have  no  intention  of  leaving  it,"  he  quietly  re- 
plied. "I  have  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it, 
and  am  as  innocent  as  you  can  possibly  be." 

No  attempt  was  made  at  any  kind  of  labor  by  the 
household.  No  meals  were  eaten  and  none  prepared. 
Before  Jake  returned  Aphra's  flight  had  been  discov- 
ered, and  Mrs.  Jicks'  face  wore  a  puzzled  look,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  one  of  bitter  grief. 

When  the  coroner,  physician  and  constable  arrived, 
with  the  jury — hastily  impressed  into  service  from 
among  the  townspeople — the  inquest  was  begun. 

A  little  crowd  of  curious  sightseers  followed  the 
officers  and  came  straggling  in  as  the  ceremony  pro- 
ceeded. Several  neighbors  also  arrived,  having  been 
informed  of  the  tragedy  by  Jake  as  he  returned  from 
his  flying  trip.  They  stood  looking  on  while  the  doc- 
tor examined  the  body.  No  one  expressed  any  sor- 
row for  the  life  thus  suddenly  brought  to  a  close. 

He  had  never  been  popular  with  those  who  knew 
him  best.  His  servants  had  always  stood  in  awe  of 
him.  Mrs.  Jicks  was  the  only  person  who  really  loved 


200  The  Dark  Strain. 

the  hard,  cruel  man.  Her  love  had  become  largely 
mixed  with  fear  and  desire  for  revenge  for  the  slight 
he  had  put  upon  her  by  bringing  another  woman  to 
the  house  as  his  wife. 

The  usual  forms  were  gone  through  at  the  inquest., 
It  was  learned  the  deceased  had  last  been  seen  alive 
at  half-past  nine  on  the  previous  evening  by  Mrs.  Jicks. 
The  body  was  discovered  about  seven  o'clock  that 
morning  by  the  nephew  of  the  deceased.  Suspicion 
pointed  strongly  to  Frank  when  the  fact  of  his  quarrel 
with  his  uncle  and  of  his  parting  with  him  in  anger, 
was  brought  out.  But  when  the  listeners  heard  of  the 
flight  of  the  young  wife  and  the  note  she  had  written  to 
Frank  was  produced — having  been  found  on  the  lawn 
where  he  had  paced  for  hours  the  night  before — the 
tide  turned  more  strongly  against  Mrs.  Westlake. 

Frank  was  compelled  to  explain  why  he  had  lingered 
about  the  place  all  night  long,  when  he  was  supposed 
to  have  started  for  Philadelphia.  Then  the  story  of 
the  wife's  ignominious  imprisonment  came  out.  A 
murmur  of  sympathy  ran  through  the  room  as  Frank 
related  it,  warmly  defending  her  and — to  his  own  satis- 
faction, at  least — acquitting  her  of  all  knowledge  of 
the  crime. 

Some  few  of  the  neighbors  had  heard  of  the  mar- 
riage, more  had  not.  Whatever  good  feeling  was 
aroused  on  Mrs.  Westlake's  side,  Mrs.  Jicks  made  bold 
endeavor  to  quench  by  telling  of  Frank's  secret  visits 
to  the  tower  and  of  the  scene  which  had  so  angered 
his  uncle  on  the  last  day  of  his  life. 

The  dagger  was  produced  in  evidence  and  passed 


Murder  !  Murder  !  201 

around  among  the  jurymen.  They  all  examined  the 
turned  edge  and  battered  point,  plainly  indicating 
that  it  had  been  used  in  some  sort  of  digging  or  goug- 
ing, as  bits  of  mortar  were  found  along  the  battered 
edges.  Each  member  of  the  household  denied  ever 
having  seen  the  dagger  before,  while  Mrs.  Jicks  took 
oath  she  had  seen  a  dagger  the  very  counterpart  of  it 
in  Mrs.  Westlake's  room,  still  she  could  not  posi- 
tively identify  it.  Frank  unhesitatingly  swore  that  the 
weapon  in  question  was  not  the  one  possessed  by  Mrs. 
Westlake.  Further  search  proved  this  to  be  true,  as 
the  other  one  was  found  in  the  deserted  room  in  the 
tower. 

After  many  testifyings  and  oaths,  questions  and 
cross  questions,  a  verdict  was  finally  reached:  "The  de- 
ceased came  to  his  death  by  a  wound  from  a  dagger 
in  the  hands  of  a  person  or  persons  unknown ;  with 
suspicion  strongly  directed  against  Francis  Greydon, 
nephew  of  the  deceased  and  Aphra  Birney  Westlake, 
wife  of  the  deceased." 

Frank  wlas  immediately  taken  into  custody,  ar- 
rested on  the  grave  suspicion  of  either  having  com- 
mitted the  crime  or  being  an  accomplice,  and  lodged 
in  the  county  jail.  A  detective  was  speedily  despatched 
in  quest  of  the  missing  wife.  Frank  was  well  nigh 
overcome  with  a  wild  tumult  of  conflicting  emotion ; 
terror,  lest  Aphra,  too,  be  arrested  and  not  able  to 
prove  her  innocence;  bitter  grief  at  thought  of  the 
effect  of  his  disgrace  on  the  loved  ones  at  home;  and 
a  keen  sense  of  shame  and  anger  at  his  humiliating 
position. 


2O2  The  Dark  Strain. 

What  would  his  mother  do?  He  was  afraid  to 
hear  from  them.  The  awful  stigma  would  probably 
kill  her  and  Thurza,  too.  They  would  never,  never 
dare  to  look  the  world  in  the  face.  Their  idol  was 
shattered  in  the  dust.  And  poor  Grace!  She  would 
be  wild  with  grief,  yet  she  would  never  believe  him 
guilty.  She  would  stand  by  him  to  the  last. 

He  wrote  a  long,  loving  letter  to  her,  stoutly  de- 
claring his  innocence,  and  begging  her  to  comfort 
their  mother.  Not  to  let  her  think  the  worst  of  it; 
but  to  look  on  the  bright  side.  He  was  innocent;  any 
court  would  acquit  him,  when  once  this  was  proved 
and  all  the  stigma  would  be  removed.  No  stain  would 
attach  itself  to  the  precious  family  name  as  a  conse- 
quence of  his  present  most  unfortunate  predicament. 
Try  to  impress  that  upon  her. 

This  done,  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  Aphra.  What 
could  he  do  to  help  her?  He  knew  she  was  as  inno- 
cent as  he,  no  matter  how  strongly  evidence  pointed 
against  her.  Her  hand  had  never  struck  that  fatal 
blow.  Where  was  she  now?  What  would  become  of 
her  if  they  succeeded  in  arresting  her?  Would  she  be 
able  to  prove  an  alibi?  God  grant  it. 

Two  days  later  a  couple  of  visitors  were  ushered 
into  Frank's  cell  by  the  turnkey, — a  plump  young 
lady  and  a  plumper  gentleman.  The  lady  threw 
back  her  veil,  revealing  the  pale  face  and  red-rimmed, 
violet  eyes  of  his  darling  sister.  With  a  cry,  she 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  hugged  him  vigor- 
ously, crying  a  little  over  him,  as  she  lovingly  patted 
his  face.  Two  bright  drops  fell  down  on  her  brown 


Murder  !  Murder  !  203 

hair  as  he  strained  her  to  his  heart.  The  plump  young 
gentleman — Grace's  butcher — turned  away,  blowing 
his  nose  sympathetically,  stealthily  wiping  his  eyes 
afterward. 

Frank  shook  hands  heartily  with  his  prospective 
brother-in-law. 

"How  can  I  thank  you  for  coming?" 

"Don't  thank  me  at  all.  It  was  a  pleasure — or,  I 
mean,  I  was  glad  to  bring  Grace." 

"I  ran  away,  Frank.  Just  think  of  it.  I  went 
straight  to  Dick  and  asked  him  to  come  here  with  me. 
He  is  going  to  help  clear  you,  Frank.  He  will  do  it  if 
you  trust  all  to  him?" 

Frank  looked  inquisitively  at  the  butcher. 
-  "You  see,  Grace  has  such  confidence  in  my  detec- 
tive powers,"  he  explained.  "Once  I  aspired  to  a  posi- 
tion among  the  sleuth  hounds ;  but  gave  it  up  for  a 
more  profitable  and  more  suitable  business.  I  don't 
think  I  was  ever  cut  out  for  a  detective ;  but  as  I  have 
had  a  little  training,  Grace  begged  me  to  come.  I  will 
work  my  level  best,  you  may  be  sure,"  with  an  admir- 
ing glance  at  Grace. 

"But  your  business  at  home,"  expostulated  Frank. 

"I  have  left  that  in  the  hands  of  a  competent  man. 
I  came  prepared  to  stay  three  months,  if  necessary." 

"Thank  you.  You  are  the  right  kind  of  a  brother- 
in-law,"  Frank  cried  delightedly,  wringing  his  hand 
again. 

Grace  and  her  fiancee  both  blushed. 

"Now,  how  does  mother  take  it  ?  I  have  been  afraid 
to  ask." 


204  The  Dark  Strain. 

"Oh,  just  the  same  as  she  takes  everything,  Frank, — 
the  worst  possible  way.  She  has  taken  to  her  bed  and 
positively  refuses  to  move,  because  I  ventured  to  as- 
sert that  your  liberty  was  dearer  to  me  than  any 
amount  of  family  pride.  She  weeps  and  moans  all 
the  time.  When  I  told  her  I  was  coming  to  see  you, 
she  commanded  Thurza  to  lock  me  in  my  room,  but 
I  got  out  of  the  window  and  down  the  wisteria  vine. 
I  left  a  note  explaining  my  flight.  I  suppose  I  won't 
be  allowed  to  enter  the  house  when  I  go  back." 

"What  would  you  do  then?"  asked  Frank,  with  an 
admiring  glance  at  her. 

"Oh,  we  have  settled  it.  I  am  to  go  to  a  certain  re- 
spectable boarding  house  in  a  quiet  nook,  and  wait 
for  Dick  to  come  for  me.  Isn't  that  it,  Dick  ?" 

Dick  positively  affirmed  it.  Ye  gods!  What  a 
daughter  for  such  a  mother! 

"Now  we  are  going  out  to  buy  a  dinner  and  bring 
it  in  here  to  eat  with  you.  Afterward  Dick  will  take 
me  to  the  train,  then  return  to  enter  upon  his  new 
duties." 

"But  will  the  authorities  allow  you  to  bring  a  din- 
ner in  here  and  eat  it  ?"  anxiously  asked  the  prisoner. 

"Yes,  they  will.  You  see,  Dick  is  a  detective,  and  in 
your  employ;  he  will  be  allowed  to  go  in  and  out  at 
will.  It  is  not  as  though  you  were  condemned;  you 
are  only  here  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  clear  yourself. 
Oh,  it's  all  right.  Isn't  it,  Dick?" 

"Yes,  yes,  it's  all  right,"  responded  Dick,  cheerily. 

The   pair   went   out,   leaving   Frank   alone   again. 

"What  a  dear  girl  she  is,"  he  thought.    "A  regular 


Murder  !  Murder !  205 

trump.  I  should  like  to  tell  her  about  Aphra,  but  I 
hardly  know  how  to  commence.  Poor  mother,  I  hope 
she  is  not  really  ill." 

Presently  Grace  bustled  in  again,  with  the  genial 
butcher  in  tow.  Both  were  laden  with  all  the  requi- 
sites of  a  first-class  dinner. 

"Now  just  tell  me  all  about  the  whole  affair,  from 
the  very  beginning,  Frank,"  commanded  Grace,  pois- 
ing her  fork  in  the  air,  with  an  oyster  impaled  there- 
on. "Of  course,  since  Dick  is  your  detective,  he  must 
hold  all  the  facts  of  the  case  and  I  am  your  sister 
and  must  know,  too." 

Thus  adjured,  Frank  related  all  the  main  happen- 
ings of  his  entire  visit.  His  hearers  listened  intently 
"as  he  related  his  story,  uttering  many  ejaculations  and 
little  cries  of  astonishment  at  the  details. 

"What  will  poor  mother  say  when  she  hears  that 
Uncle  Harmon  was  married, — the  odious  old  sinner!" 
exclaimed  Grace.  "To  think  of  his  marrying  a  young 
girl,  and  then  daring  to  lock  her  up  in  that  old  ruin. 
You  were  perfectly  right  in  taking  things  to  her. 
How  could  you  help  falling  in  love  with  her,"  cried 
the  impetuous  girl. 

Frank  colored  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  the  nature  of  the  secret 
spoken  of?"  asked  Dick,  his  grey  eyes  sparkling  at 
the  prospect  of  fathoming  a  mystery. 

"Nothing  at  all.  Nor  did  she.  As  far  as  I  know, 
only  uncle  and  Mrs.  Westlake's  mother  are  acquainted 
with  it." 


206  The  Dark  Strain. 

"And  his  knowledge  of  it  would  force  her  to  seek 
shelter  among  strangers,  you  say." 

"Yes,  that  is  what  she  said." 

"Now  tell  me, — how  many  and  what  people  inhab- 
ited the  house." 

"There  was  my  uncle,  an  old  man  above  sixty,  Mrs. 
Jicks,  the  housekeeper,  about  fifty,  a  coachman  and 
stable  boy,  who  had  their  quarters  at  the  stable,  the 
cook,  a  middle-aged  negress,  a  little  wench  as  a  helper, 
and  two  young  negress  maids.  That  is  all,  beside 
Aphra — Mrs.  Westlake  and  myself." 

"What  is  her  name?"  asked  Grace. 

"Aphra." 

"What  a  sweet  name!  Don't  you  admire  it?" 

Frank  blushed  again  and  nodded  assent. 

"And  this  tower — I  believe  you  said  the  lower  part 
was  in  ruins.  Was  the  lady  on  the  top  floor  then  ?" 

"Oh,  no !  That  had  completely  escaped  my  memory. 
Mrs.  Westlake  told  me  that  she  believed  some  one  was 
imprisoned  in  that  top  room,  too.  She  had  see  Mrs. 
Jicks  carry  a  tray  of  food  into  that  part  of  the  house, 
before  she  was  imprisoned  there  herself ;  and  had  once 
seen  a  face,  framed  in  grey  hair,  at  one  of  the  win- 
dows." 

"Who  could  it  be?"  Grace  exclaimed. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  idea,"  replied  Frank. 

"The  case  deepens,"  added  the  amateur  detective. 
"Well,  I  will  take  you  to  the  train  now,  Grace,  then 
I  will  come  back  again  to  gain  a  few  more  points." 

Grace  arose  and  fondly  kissing  her  brother,  gathered 
the  hotel  dishes  together  and  pronounced  herself  ready. 


Aphra's  Return.  207 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  P  H  R  A'S     RETURN. 

WITH  a  glad  heart  Aphra  once  more  stepped  upon 
the  streets  of  New  York  City,  in  the  evening  of  the 
second  day  after  her  flight  from  Oaklawn.  The  keen 
January  air  seemed  to  send  new  life  leaping  through 
veins.  -  How  familiar  the  dear  place  looked  as  she 
jogged  contentedly  along  in  the  horse  car.  It  was 
such  a  delightful  change  to  be  surrounded  by  the  noise 
and  bustle  of  city  life,  after  the  dead  quiet  of  country 
life  in  Southern  Virginia.  Then,  she  had  scarcely  set 
eyes  on  a  human  being,  saving  those  on  the  place,  dur- 
ing her  entire  stay.  She  would  take  her  mother  and 
Sarah  completely  by  surprise,  and  now,  that  the  barrier 
was  forever  removed,  she  felt  sure  of  a  loving  wel- 
come. 

At  last  she  came  to  the  dear  old  street  and  soon  was 
tripping  up  the  steps  of  home!  She  marvelled  at  the 
dark,  gloomy  look  of  the  house.  No  cheery  light 
shone  from  the  windows.  Perhaps  her  mother  was 
out,  but  where  were  the  servants  ?  With  a  look  of  dis- 
appointment she  gave  a  vigorous  push  to  the  bell,  then 
waited  in  a  fever  of  impatience.  After  what  seemed 


208  The  Dark  Strain. 

to  her  an  interminably  long  time  she  heard  a  step  com- 
ing along  the  hallway.  Mary,  the  cook,  opened  the 
door. 

Aphra  stepped  inside.  "Good  evening,  Mary. 
Where  is  mother?" 

"Why,  Miss  Aphra,  is  it  you?"  ejaculated  the  as- 
tounded Mary.  "Why,  child,  your  mother  has  not 
come  home  yet." 

"Home  from  where?" 

"Home  from  Europe." 

"Europe !  Is  my  mother  in  Europe  ?"  cried  Aphra, 
a  sickening  look  of  dismay  spreading  over  her  face. 

"Sure,  Miss  Aphra,  didn't  she  tell  you  about  it  in 
her  letter?" 

"I  have  not  had  a  letter  from  her  in  months.  Is  she 
married,  then?" 

"Yes,  miss.  She  was  married  in  September,  very 
quiet  like,  and  they  went  right  away  to  Europe  to 
spend  the  winter." 

"And  Sarah,  where  is  she?" 

"She  went,  too,  Miss,  as  a  maid." 

"Dear  me,  how  dreadful !  Now  I  shall  have  to  stay 
here  for — I  don't  know  how  long.  Well,  please  get 
me  some  supper  anyway.  Is  there  a  warm  room  in 
the  house?" 

"No,  miss.  None  fit  for  you.  You  see,  I  am  just 
staying  here  to  take  care  of  the  place." 

"Are  you  all  alone?" 

"No,  miss.  Jim  is  here,  too.  We  got  married  in 
the  fall,  so  he  could  bear  me  company  here  this  win- 
ter." 


Aphra's  Return.  209 

"Oh,  I  see.  Well,  on  the  whole,  I  think  I  will  not 
stay  here  until  mother  comes  back.  I  will  go  to  a  ho- 
tel, and  to-morrow  morning  I  will  come  back  and  pack 
a  trunk  of  my  winter  clothing.  James  can  send  it  to 
the  hotel  for  me." 

"Very  well,  Miss  Aphra,"  and  a  relieved  expression 
came  over  Mary's  face.  "Just  as  you  wish." 

"I  think  it  will  be  best.  Have  you  mother's  ad- 
dress?" 

"No,  miss,  she  is  travelling,  you  know." 

"Perhaps  I  can  find  out  from  the  post-office.  Good- 
night, Mary." 

"Good-night,  Miss  Aphra." 

"How  very  provoking,"  thought  the  disappointed 
-.-.Aphra,  as  she  walked  along  the  street.  "What  shall 
I  do  ?  It  will  never  do  to  present  myself  to  our  friends 
in  this  manner.  If  I  say  my  husband  is  dead,  where 
is  my  mourning?  How  could  I  account  to  them  for 
my  ignorance  of  my  mother's  whereabouts.  It  places 
me  in  a  very  awkward  position  and  will  certainly 
cause  remark.  I  know  now,  I  should  not  have  come 
here.  I  did  not  intend  coming  until  I  knew  I  was 
free.  Then  I  acted  on  a  mad  impulse  and  never  gave 
a  thought  to  the  consequence.  I  am  so  utterly  unused 
to  acting  for  myself,  and  mother  is  so  very  particular. 
I  might  have  known  I  should  make  a  mess  of  it.  I 
was  so  very  confident  of  her  aid.  She  always  knows 
just  the  proper  thing  to  do.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  ob- 
tain her  address  and  write  her  at  once.  In  the  mean- 
time I  must  keep  secluded  and  not  let  our  friends  know 
of  my  arrival  in  the  city.  This  cannot  be  done  by  my 


210  The  Dark  Strain. 

going  to  the  Waldorf-Astoria  nor  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  I  must  seek  some  quiet  boarding-house  in  a 
different  quarter,  where  I  shall  not  be  likely  to  meet 
any  acquaintances.  I  will  write  to  the  post-office  for 
the  address  at  once." 

She  boarded  a  car  and  started  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 
tion. When  she  felt  she  had  gone  quite  far  enough 
she  alighted  and  walked  along,  glancing  right  and  left 
for  a  boarding-house  sign.  Very  soon  she  descried 
one,  painted  black  with  gilt  lettering:  "Board  for 
ladies  and  gentlemen  by  the  day  or  week." 

"I  will  try  it  here." 

Mounting  the  few  steps  that  led  up  to  the  door,  she 
rang  the  bell.  A  very  motherly  looking  woman  an- 
swered her  summons  and  without  hesitation  invited 
her  caller  in  the  parlor. 

"I  came  to  see  if  I  could  get  board  here  at  once," 
explained  Aphra. 

"Yes,  miss,  I  think  I  could  accommodate  you." 

"Have  you  many  boarders  at  present?" 

"No,  miss — none  at  all.  I  have  only  had  the  sign 
out  for  a  week.  My  husband  came  down  to  his  bed, 
so  I  had  to  do  something.  We  have  only  one  flat  of 
five  rooms ;  but  I  thought  I  could  spare  three  of  them, 
if  I  could  only  get  boarders  to  fill  them.  Excuse  me, 
miss ;  but  would  you  pay  in  advance  ?"  she  asked  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"Certainly,  what  is  your  price?" 

"I  could  let  you  have  this  parlor  bed-room,  right  in 
here,  for  ten  dollars  a  week.  If  that  is  more  than  you 
could  pay,  I  would  let  the  others  go  cheaper,"  the 


Aphra's  Return.  21 1 

woman  replied,  with  a  kindly  sympathy  for  other's 
need. 

"I  will  take  the  parlor  bedroom,  and  here  is  the  first 
payment.  Now,  may  I  stay  here  to-night.  My  trunk 
will  be  brought  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  miss,  and  thank  you.  I  am  only  a  plain  cook, 
but  I  can  give  you  good  victuals  and  plenty  of  them." 

"My  name  is  Mrs.  Westlake,"  Aphra  said  simply. 

"My,  but  you  look  young  to  be  a  married  woman. 
My  name  is  Brown,  ma'am." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Brown,  can  you  give  me  a  little  some- 
thing to  eat?  I  know  it  is  late,  and  I  don't  want  to 
make  you  any  trouble.  Just  a  little  cold  lunch  will 
answer." 

v  "I  will  get  it  ready  right  away,  Mrs.  Westlake.  I 
think  you  will  find  everything  ready  in  your  room. 
You  can  come  out  through  the  hall  to  the  kitchen  door. 
Just  as  soon  as  you  lay  off  your  wraps,  the  victuals 
will  be  ready."  With  a  kindly  smile,  she  disappeared 
into  an  adjoining  room. 

Aphra  heard  a  querulous  voice  ask :  "What  kind  of 
a  looking  woman  is  it?" 

The  murmured  reply  were  inaudible.  Again  the 
peevish,  fretful  tones  reached  her  ears. 

"I  hope  you  ain't  goin'  to  trust  her  in  there  without 
lockin'  things  up !  Like  as  not  she  is  some  sharper  or 
other.  Young,  good  lookin'  women  with  ten  dollar 
bills  ain't  lookin'  for  board  in  no  such  place  as  this !" 

Aphra  could  scarcely  suppress  a  smile,  as  she  looked 
about  her  wondering  what  could  be  locked  up,  as 
nothing  met  her  view  save  the  few  well-worn  articles 


212  The  Dark  Strain. 

of  furniture,  neatly  darned  curtain,  and  ancient  Brus- 
sels carpet,  now  worn  threadbare  in  patches.  Almost 
before  she  had  finished  a  simple  toilet,  the  motherly 
faced  Mrs.  Brown  came  back  to  see  if  she  were  ready. 

"You  will  excuse  the  scarcity  of  this  meal,  ma'am, 
I  know.  I  don't  have  much  in  the  house  but  for  me 
and  John.  His  appetite  is  no  great  shakes  and  I  am 
a  dreadful  poor  hand  to  eat  alone.  It  seems  a  waste 
of  time  for  me  just  to  cook  for  myself." 

Aphra  declared  the  display  to  be  abundant  and  soon 
proved  it  well  adapted  to  her  taste. 

Determined  to  make  the  best  of  her  disappointment 
at  her  mother's  absence,  and  her  enforced  seclusion, 
she  went  to  bed  and  slept  soundly.  The  next  morning, 
according  to  her  promise,  she  returned  home  for  her 
trunk.  She  cautioned  Mary  not  to  speak  of  her  being 
in  the  city.  During  the  day  she  wrote  to  the  post- 
master asking  her  mother's  European  address.  In  due 
time  she  received  word  of  the  place  her  mother  had 
ordered  all  her  letters  to  be  forwarded  to.  It  was  a 
prominent  hotel  in  London. 

With  a  feeling  of  relief,  she  quickly  wrote  her  let- 
ter, telling  her  mother  of  her  awkward  predicament 
and  begging  her  immediate  return.  Having  sent  the 
urgent  message  on  its  way,  she  had  nothing  to  do  but 
possess  her  soul  in  patience  until  an  answer  came.  She 
felt  sure  her  mother  would  cable  her,  upon  receipt  of 
her  letter,  then  take  the  first  steamer  possible  home. 

Nothing  to  do  but  wait !  Waiting  was  dull  work 
for  Aphra.  Her  thoughts  would  travel  backward  over 
that  dreadful  journey ;  to  her  trembling  flight  from  the 


Aphra's  Return.  213 

house ;  back  to  that  never-to-be-forgotten  scene  in  the 
little  tower  room.  Again  she  lived  over  each  hour; 
from  the  time  Frank  brought  her  clothing  to  her;  to 
the  time  he  had  discovered  the  fact  of  her  marriage; 
on  to  that  last  memorable  interview  held  in  the  room. 
Thoughts  of  Frank  always  brought  hot  blushes  to 
her  face. 

With  them  came  the  thought  that  now  she  was  free. 
No  galling  chain  bound  her  now.  No  bitter  tie  would 
henceforth  spoil  her  life.  She  was  no  longer  the  fet- 
tered wife  of  an  old  man.  Frank  would  follow  her 
home  and  tell  her  again  of  his  love.  It  was  not  hope- 
less now.  She  need  feel  no  shame  at  his  endearing 
words  and  caresses;  no  stinging  sense  of  humiliation 
at  his  kiss ;  but  was  free  to  return  them  at  will.  Then 
she  would  see  again  that  awful  sight  her  eyes  had  last 
rested  on  in  the  Oaklawn  library.  She  shuddered  and 
tried  to  shut  out  the  horrible  sight.  Although  too  hon- 
est to  pretend  any  feeling  save  a  most  delightful  sense 
of  freedom,  she  could  have  wished  her  husband's  death 
had  been  less  sudden  and  horrible. 

"Mother  will  be  so  thankful  to  know  that  terrible 
secret  is  buried  with  him,"  she  mused. 

Every  day  she  went  out  for  a  long  walk,  always 
choosing  the  more  secluded  streets,  where  she  felt 
sure  of  meeting  no  familiar  face.  On  the  third  day  of 
her  stay  with  Mrs.  Brown,  that  good  lady,  with  beam- 
ing face,  informed  her  of  the  advent  of  a  new  boarder. 

"A  fine  looking  man,  Mrs.  Westlake.  I  hope  you 
will  like  him  and  not  feel  put  out  at  his  being  here." 

"Oh,  I  presume  not.    It  is  not  likely  I  shall  see  much 


214  The  Dark  Strain. 

of  him,  except  at  meal  time,"  Aphra  innocently  re- 
sponded, all  unconscious  of  the  fate  in  store  for  her. 

The  newcomer  was  about  seating  himself  at  the 
table  when  she  entered  the  room.  Politely  rising,  he 
waited  until  she  had  taken  her  seat,  bowing  most  defer- 
entially in  acknowledgment  of  Mrs.  Brown's  introduc- 
tion. He  engaged  Aphra  in  conversation,  deftly  draw- 
ing her  out.  Learning  she  had  shortly  returned  from 
the  South,  he  showed  himself  very  familiar  with 
Southern  life.  Dinner  passed  off  pleasantly  and  Aphra 
congratulated  herself  on  having  so  congenial  a  fellow 
boarder. 

She  was  somewhat  surprised,  on  starting  out  for  her 
customary  walk,  to  find  Mr.  Saugh  waiting  at  the  door. 

"Going  out  for  your  constitutional,  Mrs.  Westlake  ?" 
he  pleasantly  inquired. 

"Yes,  I  usually  take  a  long  walk  every  day." 

"May  I  hope  you  will  not  consider  my  company  an 
intrusion  ?" 

Now  Aphra  did  consider  it  an  intrusion,  most  de- 
cidedly, and  looked  askance  at  this  bare-faced  exhibi- 
tion of  self-assurance. 

Rightly  interpreting  the  expression,  he  hastened  to 
add :  "I  wish  to  speak  with  you  on  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness. I  know  you  would  prefer  having  the  conversa- 
tion as  private  as  possible." 

His  tone  impressed  Aphra  unpleasantly.  She  drew 
hersdf  up  haughtily. 

"Any  business  you  can  possibly  have  with  me,  can 
be  transacted  right  here  and  now." 


Aphra's  Return.  215 

"You  will  not  care  to  have  every  passer-by  staring 
at  you,  will  you  ?"  he  asked  impatiently. 

"Why  should  any  one  stare  at  me?" 

"You  will  be  shocked,  possibly ;  indignant,  very 
probably ;  and  most  likely  refuse  to  do  my  bidding." 

Every  atom  of  spirit  was  aroused  in  Aphra  as  she 
looked  scornfully  at  him.  With  a  light  of  determina- 
tion shining  in  her  eyes,  she  replied  in  a  low  tone : 

"Say  what  you  have  to  say.  Don't  think  I  shall 
make  any  sign  to  attract  publicity.  I  have  my  self-re- 
spect to  maintain." 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Westlake, — I  wonder  you  were  not 
cunning  enough  to  change  your  name — don't  blame 
me,  then.  In  the  first  place  I  must  tell  you,  you  are  to 
*tart  for  Virginia  with  me  this  afternoon." 

Aphra's  face  paled.    "What  for  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Need  I  tell  you?"  opening  his  coat,  to  display 
the  badge  of  the  secret  service. 

"You  are  suspected  of  the  murder  of  your  husband, 
Harmon  Westlake." 

Aphra  reeled.  Her  white  hands  clenched  the  iron 
railing  for  support.  In  an  instant  she  remembered  his 
warning  and  prediction.  Making  a  wild  effort  at  self- 
control,  she  steadied  herself  and  returned  his  gaze  un- 
flinchingly. 

"You  know  I  could  not  possibly  be  guilty  of  that 
crime.  He  was  dead  before  I  came  downstairs." 

"Hush !  Don't  say  anything.  It  may  only  count 
against  you.  You  must  not  speak  on  the  subject  to 
any  one  but  your  lawyer.  Get  ready  at  once,  for  we 
leave  New  York  inside  of  an  hour." 


216  The  Dark  Strain. 

In  his  business,  Mr.  Saugh  was  too  used  to  facing 
all  sorts  and  grades  of  criminals  to  pin  his  faith  on 
Aphra's  protestations  of  innocence ;  yet  he  sympathized 
with  her  to  that  degree,  he  would  not  allow  her  to 
make  any  statement,  however  simple,  to  him. 

Aphra  had  no  need  of  any  of  the  clothing  in  her 
trunk ;  leaving  it  labeled  to  be  returned  to  her  mother's 
residence,  she  gathered  together  the  few  belongings 
she  needed  and  liberally  feeing  Mrs.  Brown,  bade  adieu 
and  followed  her  conductor. 

A  wild  tumult  of  agony  and  indignation  was  rag- 
ing within  her. 

"If  mother  were  only  here!"  was  her  heart-yearn- 
ing cry.  "She  would  know  what  to  do.  I  am  so  help- 
less Without  her." 

She  never  doubted  that  she  could  speedily  prove  her 
innocence  of  the  terrible  charge.  That  she  would  be 
lodged  behind  prison  bars  never  occurred  to  her.  In- 
deed her  only  thought  was  of  haste  to  reach  her  desti- 
nation and  prove  her  innocence.  Her  guide  told  her 
of  Frank's  arrest  and  imprisonment. 

"Why  do  they  suspect  both  of  us?"  she  quickly 
asked. 

"Well,  you  see,  Mrs.  Westlake,  the  housekeeper's 
testimony  was  strong  against  you,  while  he  was  dis- 
covered standing  over  the  corpse  with  the  dagger  in 
his  hand.  It  would  naturally  be  supposed,  that  you 
two  were  in  collusion,  so  you  are  both  to  be  brought  to 
trial." 

Poor  Frank !  Aphra  wondered  how  he  was  bearing 
his  disgrace.  Never  a  thought  of  his  guilt  entered  her 
loyal  breast. 


The  Butcher  Detective.  217 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  BUTCHER  DETECTIVE. 

THE  next  day  after  Dick  Strong  had  taken  up 
Frank's  case,  he  appeared  at  Oaklawn  armed  with  a 
bogus  request,  presumably  from  Mr.  Westlake's  law- 
yer, for  him  to  take  charge  of  the  premises  until  affairs 
were  settled. 

Presenting  his  credentials  to  the  formidable  Mrs. 
Jicks,  he  politely  requested  to  be  shown  about  the 
house.  Very  reluctantly  this  queenly  female  proceeded 
to  comply,  after  carefully  reading  the  paper  twice 
through.  After  making  the  rounds  Mr.  Strong  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  remaining  in  the  library  to 
rest,  until  dinner  time.  Mrs.  Jicks  rather  ungraciously 
consented. 

"That  is,  if  you  have  no. objection,"  politely  inquired 
the  detective,  looking  earnestly  at  her. 

Instantly  she  flashed  a  challenging  glance  at  him, 
and  sweetly  replied: 

"It  is,  of  course,  the  most  suitable  room  for  you, 
providing  you  don't  feel  timid  about  staying  where 
Mr.  Westlake  was  murdered.  My  only  objection  was, 


2i8  The  Dark  Strain. 

the  room  is  in  such  a  topsey-turvy  condition ;  but  stay, 
if  you  like,  by  all  means." 

Dick  was  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  she  did  not 
want  him  in  there  at  present  notwithstanding  her  ap- 
parent readiness,  so  he  replied  indifferently: 

"Suppose  I  give  you  an  opportunity  of  straighten- 
ing it  out  first?" 

Mrs.  Jicks  could  not  conceal  the  expression  of  relief 
that  stole  over  her  face,  from  the  keen  eyes  of  the 
amateur  detective. 

"I  will  stroll  about  the  grounds  for  an  hour  or  so." 
Dick  picked  up  his  hat  and  left  the  room. 

Feeling  sure  his  actions  would  be  watched  by  those 
coal  black  eyes,  he  sauntered  off  toward  the  stables. 
When  well  out  of  sight  of  the  library  windows,  he 
quickly  stepped  around  the  corner  and  noiselessly  rais- 
ing a  window  sash,  stepped  within  the  adjoining  room. 
Creeping  to  the  portieres  he  drew  them  aside  just  far 
enough  to  accommodate  an  eye,  with  which  he  peered 
into  the  library.  Mrs.  Jicks  stood  before  the  desk,  just 
in  the  act  of  storing  a  bulky  paper  away,  within  her 
capacious  bosom.  Putting  down  the  lid  of  the  desk, 
she  smilingly  soliloquized: 

"The  room  is  in  order  now,  Mr.  Smarty;  come  on, 
you  are  welcome  to  all  you  can  find." 

As  she  left  the  room  Dick  entered  it.  He  stopped  to 
look  up  at  the  picture  on  the  wall.  "How  like  Grace 
she  looks.  It  is  plain  to  be  seen  she  is  a  Westlake 
too,  the  same  eyes  and  hair.  Only  this  one  is  not  so 
matter-of-fact,  so  merry  as  my  dear  girlie.  How 
strange  it  is  that  both  Grace  and  Frank  have  so  much 


The  Butcher  Detective.  219 

of  the  Westlake  family  features  and  so  very  little  of 
the  disposition.  But  this  is  not  attending  to  my  busi- 
ness." 

He  made  a  thorough  search  of  the  desk  and  its  con- 
tents. Several  letters  addressed  to  Mrs.  Harmon  West- 
lake  lay  in  a  neat  little  pile  in  one  corner.  They  were 
from  her  mother.  All  had  been  opened.  Finding 
nothing  bearing  on  the  case  in  hand,  he  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  room.  Here  he  discovered  several  facts. 
He  saw  that  Mr.  Westlake  had  been  sitting  at  the  table 
with  his  back  to  the  hall  door.  He  had  not  been  at- 
tacked unawares,  for  there  were  signs  of  a  short  strug- 
gle. The  chair  had  been  pushed  out  of  position  while  he 
was  in  it,  and  signs  of  his  foot  striking  against  the 
Jbwer  part  of  the  table  were  visible.  A  few  threads 
in  the  carpet  were  torn  up  as  though  some  nails  in  the 
assailant's  shoe  had  caught  in  them.  He  also  discov- 
ered half  of  a  lady's  gold  ring,  lying  a  short  distance 
away,  at  the  foot  of  the  desk.  It  was  such  a  ring  as  is 
often  given  in  token  of  a  marriage  engagement,  and 
had  evidently  been  attached  to  a  gentleman's  watch- 
chain,  as  a  single  heavy  gold  link  still  clung  to  it.  The 
break  in  the  ring  was  new.  Dick  imagined  Mr.  West- 
lake  must  have  been  in  the  habit  of  wearing  it,  and  it 
had  become  detached  from  the  chain  and  broken  in 
the  struggle. 

Placing  his  find  in  his  vest  pocket,  Dick  stood  ready 
to  follow  Mrs.  Jicks  to  the  dining-room,  in  answer  to 
the  summons. 

"What  charming  young  lady  is  that  the  picture  of, 
in  the  library,  Mrs.  Jicks?" 


220  The  Dark  Strain. 

"It  is  a  painting  of  Estella  Westlake,  a  niece  of  Mr. 
Westlake.  She  died  very  suddenly  from  yellow  fever 
in  New  Orleans,  fifteen  years  ago,"  glibly  replied  the 
housekeeper. 

"Indeed?  How  sad.  She  has  such  a  beautiful, 
spirited  face.  She  does  not  resemble  Mr.  Westlake 
himself,  just  exactly." 

"No.  The  Westlakes  are  an  odd  family.  Mr.  West- 
lake  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  Greydon,  both  look  like  their 
mother's  family,  while  Estella  and  two  of  Mrs.  Grey- 
don's  children  are  Westlake  to  the  backbone." 

The  meal  passed  off  in  social  talk.  When  dessert 
had  been  brought  on  and  Aggie  had  left  the  room, 
Dick  produced  the  piece  of  ring. 

"Do  you  know  to  whom  this  belongs,  Mrs.  Jicks?" 
he  innocently  asked. 

The  color  instantly  left  her  face.  She  reached  out 
her  hand  for  it.  "It  was  Mr.  Westlake's,"  she  said. 
"Give  it  to  me." 

"No,  it  is  part  of  the  property.  I  will  take  care  of  it 
with  the  rest.  I  only  wanted  to  make  sure  of  the  own- 
er," he  replied,  replacing  it  in  his  pocket 

Mrs.  Jicks  bit  her  lip  in  vexation.  "Where  did  you 
find  it?" 

"I  found  it  where  he  was  murdered.  I  suppose  his 
murderer  had  some  object  in  snatching  it  from  his 
chain, — disputed  ownership  or  something  of  that  kind," 
he  slyly  suggested. 

Again  the  telltale  emotion  showed  itself  despite  Mrs. 
Jick's  best  efforts.  Her  eyes  gleamed  angrily. 


The  Butcher  Detective.  221 

"I  will  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Strong ;  when  his  wife 
is  found,  his  murderer  will  also  be  found." 

"Do  you  really  think  she  did  it,"  cried  Dick,  in  well- 
feigned  horror. 

"No  one  else,  sir.  Beside,  let  me  tell  you  a  secret" — 
and  Mrs.  Jicks  bent  confidingly  over  the  table:  "That 
ring  was  hers.  He  wore  it.  I  suppose  she  has 
snatched  it  off  after  she  killed  him." 

"How  dreadful !    I  wonder  why  she  killed  him  ?" 

"Because  he  caught  her  in  company  with  his  nephew. 
He  was  in  their  way.  She  killed  him,  so  she  could  en- 
trap Frank  Greydon  into  marrying  her." 

Dick  apparently  swallowed  all  this  at  one  gulp  and 
professed  himself  horrified  at  such  unwifely  conduct. 
t -After  leaving  the  dining-room  he  started  for  the  ruins 
of  the  old  tower.  Following  Frank's  directions,  he 
climbed  up  the  dark,  narrow  passage  and  entered  the 
room  where  Aphra  had  been  imprisoned. 

The  door  through  which  he  had  fled  was  still  un- 
locked. He  went  out  into  the  hall  connecting  the  tower 
with  the  other  part  of  the  house.  At  his  right  another 
door  stood  slightly  ajar.  Opening  it,  he  ascended  a 
narrow,  well-worn  flight  of  steps  and  entered  the  top 
room  of  the  tower. 

It  was  empty  of  an  occupant,  though  evidences  of  a 
living  presence  were  there  in  plenty.  A  small  rough 
bed  stood  in  the  corner,  a  chair  and  table  made  up  the 
rest  of  the  furnishings.  Everything  was  crude  and 
poor  in  the  extreme.  Dick  could  have  easily  imagined 
it  the  prison  of  some  slave.  Yet  a  feeling  of  awe  came 
over  him  as  though  he  were  standing  in  the  presence 


222  The  Dark  Strain. 

of  some  great  mystery  of  grief  and  suffering.  The 
very  air  seemed  laden  with  voiceless  sobbings  and 
sighs. 

He  seated  himself  in  the  chair,  wearily  closing  his 
eyes.  He  seemed  to  see,  floating  before  him,  shrouded 
in  a  faint,  gray  mist,  the  beautiful  face  of  the  picture 
in  the  library.  The  eyes  were  full  of  youthful  spirit 
and  the  dimples  danced  merrily  in  the  richly  colored 
cheeks.  As  he  sat  drinking  in  every  exquisite  feature, 
lo,  a  change  came  over  the  vision.  Slowly,  but  surely, 
the  luxuriant  brown  hair  changed  to  silvery  locks  of 
gray;  the  bright  light  of  mirth  and  intelligence  died 
out  of  the  violet  eyes,  replaced  first,  by  a  sad,  heart- 
broken look,  changing  into  one  wild  and  haunted. 
The  round  cheeks  grew  white  and  drawn.  The  face 
of  an  aged  woman  was  looking  at  Dick  weirdly  out  of 
the  gray  mist. 

He  shuddered  and  opened  his  eyes  with  a  snap, 
hastily  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  half  expecting  to 
see  that  spectral  face.  Pushing  the  bed  aside,  a  jagged 
hole,  not  much  more  than  a  foot  square,  appeared  in 
the  masonry,  on  the  side  of  the  stairs.  He  bent  down 
to  examine  it  more  closely.  v  Bits  of  finger  nails  lay 
among  the  pieces  of  stone  and  cement,  which  were 
stained  with  tiny  drops  of  blood. 

"She  must  have  dug  this  hole  with  her  hands  in 
order  to  escape.  My  first  task  will  be  to  find  her  and 
learn  if  she  and  the  girl  in  the  library  are  really  one 
and  the  same  person,  or  whether  that  was  just  a  trick 
of  my  own  brain." 

That  night,  as  Dick  was  preparing  to  retire,  Mrs. 


The  Butcher  Detective.  223 

Jicks  sent  him  an  invitation  to  join  her  in  a  cup  of  tea. 
Without  a  show,  of  hesitation  he  complied.  He  had 
silently  taken  measure  of  his  foe  and  did  not  mean  to 
give  her  any  reason  to  suspect  him.  He  found  her 
sitting  cosily  in  her  own  private  sitting-room  with  a 
dainty  china  tea  service  set  out. 

"I  thought  you  might  enjoy  sharing  my  evening 
tea,"  she  smiled  graciously. 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  am  glad  to,"  Dick  re- 
plied heartily,  mentally  resolving  at  the  same  time  not 
to  partake  of  any  decoction  prepared  by  her  hands. 

Mrs.  Jicks  passed  him  his  tea.  With  a  bow  he  ac- 
cepted it,  and  between  sentences  of  social  conversation, 
made  a  pretence  of  drinking.  His  handkerchief  ac- 
"cidentally  slipped  to  the  floor.  On  stooping  to  pick  it 
up,  he  poured  nearly  all  of  the  tea  out  upon  the  carpet. 
Seeing  his  cup  about  empty,  the  good  lady  pressed 
more  tea  upon  him.  He  refused  her  kindness,  and  on 
pretence  of  being  tired,  sought  his  room. 

Once  alone  Dick  gravely  winked  toward  the  door. 

"So  you  wanted  to  drug  me,  eh,  old  lady?  You 
want  that  piece  of  ring,  don't  you  ?  Well,  out  of  polite- 
ness, I  will  not  lock  my  door,  so  you  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  paying  me  a  midnight  visit." 

He  leisurely  drew  from  his  pocket  a  fine  silver- 
mounted  pipe.  Placing  the  ring  and  link  of  chain  in 
the  bottom,  he  filled  it  up  with  tobacco,  lighted  it  and 
took  a  few  delightful  whiffs.  Then  allowing  it  to  go 
out  he  carelessly  laid  the  pipe  on  the  dressing  case. 

He  had  been  lying  in  bed,  breathing  regularly, 
listening  intently,  for  more  than  an  hour.  Suddenly 


224  The  Dark  Strain. 

the  door  of  a  closet  in  the  room  softly  opened  and  Mrs. 
Jicks  appeared,  bearing  a  small  lamp  in  her  hand. 
Cautiously  she  approached  the  bed  and  listened.  Nod- 
ding satisfactorily  to  herself,  she  gingerly  picked  up 
his  vest  and  began  searching  the  pockets. 

Her  face  lengthened  out  as  her  search  was  not  re- 
warded. Through  every  pocket  in  Dick's  entire  out- 
fit she  went,  even  his  pocketbook  was  not  neglected. 
She  ran  her  hand  carefully  under  his  pillow.  Dick 
could  scarcely  suppress  a  chuckle,  as  he  wondered 
what  she  would  do  if  he  should  grab  her  wrist.  She 
searched  his  shoes  and  socks;  all  in  vain,  she  could 
find  no  trace  of  the  bit  of  gold.  Baffled,  she  withdrew 
from  the  room,  with  barely  a  glance  at  the  innocent 
looking  pipe.  Dick  fairly  shook  with  laughter.  He 
wondered  how  he  could  manage  to  meet  her  with  a 
serious  face  the  next  morning. 

As  soon  as  he  arose,  he  investigated  the  closet 
through  which  Mrs.  Jicks  had  entered  his  room.  He 
found  it  connected  by  another  door,  to  the  room  be- 
yond. 

"So  that  was  it,  eh?  She  put  me  in  here  so  she 
could  come  through  that  closet  whenever  she  chose. 
Bright  idea,  that." 

He  looked  out  of  his  window  toward  the  stables. 
Pete  was  ambling  along  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 
Anxious  to  let  no  circumstance,  however  trivial, 
escape  him,  he  opened  the  window  and  whistled  softly. 
Pete  turned  at  the  sound  and  looked  up  at  Dick,  who 
beckoned  him  with  one  hand,  temptingly  displaying 
a  silver  dime  with  the  other.  Pete's  eyes  sparkled. 


The  Butcher  Detective.  225 

He  ran  back  and  stood  open  mouthed  under  the  win- 
dow. 

"Say,  sonny,  are  you  the  mail  carrier?" 

"Nope.  I  des  gwine  to  tek  dis  yere  lettah  down  fer 
Jake  to  tote  it  to  de  offis." 

"Oh!  I  thought  maybe  it  was  a  letter  for  me," 
fingering  the  dime  carelessly.  "I've  been  looking  for 
one.  Are  you  sure  it  is  not  for  me,  now?" 

"Plum  suah,  boss !  Cross  mah  haht !  Miss  Jicks 
done  gib  it  to  me  des  now.  I  kin  read,  I  kin.  An' 
I'll  des  tell  you  what  name  am  on  it.  It's  M-r-J-a-m-e-s 
B-r-i-s-c-o-t-L-o-n-d-o-n — Oh,  Lordy !  Heah  she 
comes." 

Snatching  up  the  dime  which  Dick  tossed  to  him, 
.be  scampered  away  to  the  stables,  giving  animo- 
toscopic  pictures  of  tan  colored  soles  as  his  bare  feet 
fairly  flew  over  the  ground. 

"Well,  now !  Here  is  another  finger  in  the  pie.  Who 
is  Mr.  James  Briscot,  and  what  is  this  dark-browed 
Juno  writing  to  him  for?" 

After  breakfast  Dick  made  his  way  to  the  kitchen 
and  endeavored  to  scrape  an  acquaintance  with  Liza. 
He  congratulated  her  on  her  cookery  and  presented 
her  with  a  brand  span  new  dollar  bill,  giving  another 
shining  dime  to  Sally.  He  asked  Liza  many  questions 
of  her  life  at  Oaklawn,  discussing  the  crime  among 
other  topics.  Her  tongue  being  considerably  loosened 
by  the  new  bill,  Dick  had  little  difficulty  in  persuading 
her  to  speak  of  the  mysterious  occupant  of  the  tower. 

In  a  whisper,  with  wildly  rolling  eyes,  she  told  him 


226  The  Dark  Strain. 

it  was  a  crazy  sister  of  Mrs.  Jicks.  The  mention  of 
her  was  never  allowed. 

"Did  you  ever  see  her  ?"  asked  Dick. 

"Oh,  Lordy,  no!  Nobody  never  seed  huh  'cept 
Marsa  an'  Missus." 

"Mrs.  Westlake?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Jicks." 

"When  did  she  go  away?" 

"How'd  you  know  she  war  gone?"  warily  replied 
Liza,  eyeing  him  askance. 

"I  was  in  the  room  yesterday." 

Liza  threw  up  her  fat  black  hands  in  amazement. 

"Dast  you  go  in  dat  haunted  towuh?" 

"Why,  yes.     I  am  ghost  proof,  you  see."' 

Liza  looked  at  Dick's  stalwart  form  in  awe. 

"What  did  Mrs.  Jicks  say  when  she  found  out  her 
sister  had  gone?" 

"She  was  dredful  scahed.  She  tole  me  dat  de  crazy 
one  'scaped  in  de  re  fusion  when  massa's  body  was 
foun',  an'  dat  she  got  'tectives  right  away  to  cotch  huh, 
an'  I  mus'n'  breave  it  to  no  mortal  soul."  Liza  looked 
solemnly  at  Dick. 

"Well,  you  haven't,  so  far,  for  I  have  no  mortal 
soul,"  laughed  Dick.  "But  be  careful  that  you  don't 
tell  it  to  some  one  who  has,"  and  he  strolled  out  into 
the  grounds. 

"Now,  was  that  woman  Juno's  sister,  or  wasn't  she  ? 
Did  she  escape  on  the  day  after  the  murder  or  not? 
are  two  questions  I  have  to  answer,  and  I'll  answer 
no  to  both  of  them.  But,  anyway,  I  will  start  out 


The  Butcher  Detective.  227 

and  join  Juno's  '  'tectives'  in  the  search  for  that  per- 
son." 

While  Dick  was  doing  all  in  his  power  to  aid  Frank 
and  Aphra,  time  passed  wearily  to  these  two  im- 
prisoned ones.  To  her  overwhelming  grief,  Aphra 
had  been  committed  to  prison  to  await  the  trial.  Her 
brave  spirit  was  almost  crushed  by  this  indignity. 
She  wondered  what  her  proud  mother  would  say  when 
she  should  learn  of  it. 

Fortunately  for  Aphra,  the  sheriff  lived  in  the  same 
building,  and  through  his  sympathetic  wife  she  enjoyed 
comparative  freedom.  Taking  all  the  risk  on  his  own 
shoulders,  the  good  man  had  been  persuaded  by  his 
wife  to  allow  Aphra  the  comforts  of  their  rooms  in- 
stead of  a  cheerless  cell. 

Frank  chafed  bitterly  in  his  solitary  confinement. 
He  had  heard  of  Aphra's  apprehension,  and  was  in  a 
fever  of  unrest  at  his  helplessness  in  helping  to  clear 
her  fair  name  of  this  ugly  blot.  Were  it  not  for 
Grace's  great  faith  in  her  lover's  prowess,  he  would 
have  despaired  of  their  innocence  being  proved,  with 
such  a  foe  as  he  knew  Mrs.  Jicks  to  be,  pitted  against 
them. 


228  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AN  HONEST  MAN'S  HEART. 

THE  Briscots  had  spent  nearly  four  months  abroad ; 
the  last  two  of  which  had  been  spent  in  traveling  on 
the  continent.  Flying  visits  had  been  made  to  all  the 
principal  places  of  interest  to  globe-trotters.  Dr.  Phil- 
lips and  Mrs.  Paine  had  been  their  inseparable  com- 
panions. For  the  time  being  the  doctor  was  freed 
from  his  role  of  companion  to  his  invalid  wife. 

Mrs.  Phillips  had  languidly  declared  her  inability 
for  racing  about  from  place  to  place,  when  her  hus- 
band, accidentally  and  quite  opportunely,  discovered  a 
delightfully  quiet  seaport  town,  whose  air  was  most 
admirably  adapted  to  the  exhausted  state  of  her  nerves. 
Forthwith  he  had  lost  no  time  in  settling  her  there, 
leaving  her  with  her  maid  and  her  nerves  for  com- 
pany, while  he  hastened  to  follow  the  Briscots.  Ap- 
parently in  the  most  congenial  spirits  the  little  party 
journeyed  along,  each  sharing  in  the  skirmishes  with 
importunate  beggars,  exorbitant  guides  and  thieving 
drivers. 

For  two  whole  months  Dr.  Phillips  and  Mrs.  Briscot 


An  Honest  Man's  Heart.  229 

basked  in  the  sunshine  of  their  platonic  friendship, 
drove  Mrs.  Paine  wild  with  jealousy,  and  caused  James 
Briscot  to  carry  a  weight  of  lead  in  his  bosom.  How 
many  times  their  conduct  strained  onlookers  belief  in 
the  morality  of  American  people,  I  would  not  under- 
take to  say.  Yet  they  were  cordially  received  by  the 
best  people  on  all  sides.  The  very  openness  and  ob- 
vious innocence  which  characterized  all  their  actions 
was  in  itself  a  surety  of  the  chastity  of  the  friendship. 

James  'Briscot  looked  on,  deliberately  closing  his 
eyes,  still  blindly  trusting  his  honor  in  those  two  white 
hands ;  staunchly  pinning  his  highest  faith  to  her ;  lov- 
ing her  with  the  whole  of  his  big,  honest  heart,  aye,  to 
the  very  depths  of  his  manly  soul. 
„-"•  Mrs.  Fame  also  looked  on  with  very  different  feel- 
ings. Had  she  only  dared  she  would  have  spoken  to 
Mr.  Briscot  about  his  wife's  conduct,  but  something  in 
his  eye  held  her  back.  She  did  not  have  pluck  enough 
to  brave  a  storm  of  contempt  from  those  honest  eyes. 
This,  however,  did  not  weaken  her  determination  to 
break  up  the  friendship  at  all  cost. 

Like  a  veritable  coward  she  attacked  the  weaker 
vessel.  She  wrote  under  profession  of  sincere  friend- 
ship to  Mrs.  Phillips  warning  her  of  the  trap  her  hus- 
band was  walking  into,  and  advising  her  to  devise 
some  means  of  reclaiming  him  before  it  was  too  late. 
The  letter  acted  like  an  electric  shock  on  Mrs.  Phillips ; 
no  nerve  tonic  was  ever  one-half  so  potent.  She  wrote 
at  once,  thanking  Mrs.  Paine  for  her  kindness,  and 
asking  to  be  informed  of  the  date  fixed  for  the  return  to 
London. 


230  The  Dark  Strain. 

When  the  recreant  doctor  arrived  at  his  hotel  he  was 
utterly  dumbfounded  at  finding  his  wife  arrayed  in 
an  exquisite  dinner  gown,  and  ready  to  take  her  place 
at  the  table-de-hote  with  him. 

"Why,  Alicia,  whatever  has  happened?" 

"I  believe,  Edward,  that  I  have  fully  recovered. 
The  air  at  that  seaport  town  was  simply  marvelous.  I 
have  gone  about  now  for  two  whole  weeks,  just  as  well 
as  anybody  can  be.  I  walk,  ride,  play  golf,  go  to  the 
theatre,  balls,  receptions,  dinners,  anywhere  and  every- 
where. I  feel  like  a  new  being.  I  am  so  glad  to  be 
well  again,  now  you  can  take  me  everywhere  with  you. 
I  know  it  has  been  awfully  dull  for  you,  poor  fellow, 
all  these  years.  Never  mind,  I  shall  make  up  for  it  all 
now.  I  regard  my  recovery  as  little  less  than  a 
miracle." 

So  did  he. 

Hester  Briscot  asked  for  her  letters  almost  before 
she  removed  her  wraps,  when  they  arrived  at  their 
hotel.  The  trim  maid  brought  them  and  laid  them  on 
the  table.  Glancing  over  them,  sorting  out  those  be- 
longing to  herself,  her  eye  caught  one  addressed  to  her 
husband,  from  Virginia.  "Who  could  be  writing  to 
him?"  she  thought.  She  spied  one  in  Aphra's  own 
familiar  hand  addressed  to  herself. 

"At  last  I  have  a  letter  from  my  dear  child!  But 
how  does  it  come  to  be  mailed  in  New  York  ?" 

She  opened  the  long  looked-for  letter,  while  her  hus- 
band followed  her  example.  She  became  at  once  so 
amazed  and  horrified  at  its  contents  as  to  completely 
forget  her  wonder  regarding  the  letter  from  Virginia. 


An  Honest  Man's  Heart.  231 

Her  first  feeling  was  of  relief  to  learn  of  Mr.  West- 
lake's  death.  While  she  was  still  intent  upon  the 
strange  tidings  from  Aphra,  Mr.  Briscot,  with  his  let- 
ter still  in  hand,  left  the  room,  entering  the  one  occu- 
pied by  himself  as  a  sleeping  apartment.  Hester  fol- 
lowed him  with  her  eyes  rather  wonderingly,  but  asked 
no  questions. 

Presently  he  re-entered  the  room.  Looking  up,  she 
detected  a  strangely  compressed  expression  about  his 
mouth,  while  his  eyes  looked  tense  and  dark  as  though 
struggling  with  pain. 

"Are  you  ill,  James?"  she  asked,  more  gently  than 
usually. 

"No ;  I  am  all  right.    I  am  going  down  for  a  smoke." 

-  Hester  felt  ill  at  ease.    She  was  strangely  impressed 

by  his  altered  looks,  and  at  once  attributed  them  to  the 

Virginia  letter.     With  this   suspicion  fixed  upon  her 

mind,  she  entered  his  room. 

Glancing  around  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  the  letter, 
her  eye  fell  upon  a  piece  of  paper  smoldering  in  the 
grate.  It  evidently  had  been  thrown  in  on  the  fire,  and 
part  of  it  had  dropped  out  again,  where  it  lay  being 
slowly  consumed.  She  picked  it  up  and  read  the  lines 
which  were  not  blackened  by  the  flames. 

In  one  instant  her  features  became  horribly  changed. 
Her  face,  deathly  white,  was  drawn  out  of  all  re- 
semblance to  the  queenly,  beautiful  woman  who  had 
entered  the  hotel  so  short  a  time  before.  Her  eyes 
fairly  started  from  their  sockets,  she  clutched  frantic- 
ally at  her  throat. 

"Oh,  God!"  she  moaned.     "After  all  these  years! 


232  The  Dark  Strain. 

What  have  I  done  that  this  curse  should  fall  on  me? 
After  all  my  efforts,  my  working  and  planning,  it  has 
come  to  this !  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  may  as  well  leave 
here  this  instant.  James  Briscot  will  never  come 
back  into  this  room  again.  By  this  time  he  is  prob- 
ably on  his  way  out  of  London.  I  am  betrayed  and 
deserted." 

Then  came  to  her  the  thought  of  her  friend  whose 
companionship  had  been  so  dear  to  her.  She  cowed  as 
though  under  a  blow.  Well  she  knew  what  the  gen- 
teel, aristocratic  Dr.  Phillips  would  say  when  he  heard 
of  it.  She  could  see  the  uprising  of  his  cultured  eye- 
brows ;  the  shrugging  of  his  well-formed  shoulders, 
and  hear  the  scornfully  insinuating  laugh. 

What!  Would  this  platonic  friend  turn  against 
her  then?  Ah,  yes.  Dr.  Phillips  could  endure  no  as- 
sociation, ever  so  slightly  tainted  with  sin.  His  posi- 
tion was  more  to  him  than  any  earthly  tie.  So  long 
as  Hester  was  a  beautifully  fascinating  woman  of 
wealth  and  culture  he  delighted  in  her  society,  but 
Hester  degraded  by  a  shameful  secret,  even  through 
no  fault  of  her  own,  he  had  no  use  for. 

Poor  Hester  stood  the  very  picture  of  grief  and  de- 
spair turning  this  over  in  her  mind.  Oblivion  seemed 
the  only  course  open  to  her.  She  plainly  saw  her  re- 
ception if  she  returned  to  New  York  or  ever  met  any 
of  her  friends  who  professed  themselves  so  devotedly 
fond  of  her.  No,  she  stood  alone,  all  alone  in  the 
great,  wide  world ;  no  friend  nor  companion  save  her 
daughter  and  Sarah. 

Looking  up,  her  eyes  met  those  of  her  husband 


An  Honest  Man's  Heart.  233 

bent  upon  her  with  such  a  world  of  loving  sympathy 
shining  in  their  depths.  Hester  could  not  believe  the 
evidence  of  her  own  senses.  In  an  instant  he  compre- 
hended it  all  and  advanced  toward  her  with  out- 
stretched arms. 

"Oh,  my  love!  Why  did  you  read  it?  I  never 
meant  to  let  you  know,"  his  voice  was  full  of  pain. 

"Never  meant  to  let  me  know?"  she  repeated,  me- 
chanically, "I  don't  understand  you." 

"As  soon  as  I  saw  what  it  was  I  threw  it  in  the  fire. 
I  should  not  have  told  you  anything  about  it." 

"Don't  you  believe  it  ?    It  is  true !" 

"I  don't  care  a  pin  if  it  is.  It  makes  no  difference 
to  me." 

-  "Tames  Briscot,  do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that 
you  still  intend  living  with  me  as  your  wife,  when  you 
know  that  my  grandmother  was  a  negress;  that  my 
n  other  was  born  out  of  wedlock,  and  that  Sarah  is  my 
own  blood  cousin?"  cried  Hester,  in  an  incredulous 
tone. 

"What  else  could  I  mean,  Hester?"  quietly  re- 
sponded her  husband.  "I  married  you  because  I  loved 
you.  I  did  not  ask  you  who  you  were  nor  what  you 
were.  Child,  do  you  think  for  a  moment  any  one 
could  attach  any  blame  to  you?" 

"You  know  they  would  though.  Do  you  suppose 
my  fashionable  friends  in  America  would  take  the 
view  of  it  you  do?  I  certainly  never  expected  to  see 
your  face  again.  I  thought  you  had  left  me  forever." 

"My  God,  Hester !  Do  you  think  I  am  a  villain  ? 
Would  any  man  desert  you  in  your  hour  of  greatest 


234  The  Dark  Strain. 

need  ?  I  could  not  do  that,  child,  even  if  I  did  not  love 
you  at  all." 

Hester  thought  of  one  man  who  could  and  would 
have  done  it.  Her  whole  woman's  soul  rose  up  within 
her  at  this  honest  man's  loyalty  to  her.  She  walked 
deliberately  up  to  him,  and,  placing  one  white  hand 
on  either  broad  shoulder,  looked  straight  into  his  eyes 
with  all  her  heart  in  her  own. 

"I  love  you,  Jim  Briscot,  with  all  the  strength  of 
my  being.  Never  again,  so  help  me  God,  will  you  have 
cause  to  doubt  it.  If  ever  a  grateful  woman  was  a  de- 
voted wife,  I  will  be  one  to  you.  Down  on  my  knees 
I  beg  your  forgiveness  for  my  past  conduct  and  my 
gross  misjudgment  of  you." 

"Rise,  my  Hester,  rise.  It  is  not  your  place  at  my 
feet,  but  right  here  on  my  heart." 

Gently  drawing  her  to  her  feet,  he  folded  her  close 
against  his  breast.  Hester  lay  there  in  glad  rest.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  knowledge  of  that  degrading 
secret  had  darkened  her  life,  the  flood  gates  of  her 
heart  were  opened  and  she  wept  as  only  women  who 
are  accustomed  to  holding  themselves  in  the  iron  grasp 
of  self-possession  can  weep.  Alarmed  at  the  violence 
of  her  unusual  grief,  he  tried  to  check  the  torrent. 

"Don't  stop  me,  Jim.  Let  me  wash  away  all  this 
weight  I  have  borne  so  long." 

By  and  by  the  tempest  subsided.  Only  occasional 
sobbings  disturbed  the  sense  of  perfect  peace  which 
had  fallen  over  Hester's  heart. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all  of  it,  Jim,  from  the 
very  beginning." 


An  Honest  Man's  Heart.  235 

"Don't,  dear.  I  don't  care  to  know  it,  and  I  know 
it  will  distress  you." 

''It  will  relieve  me  to  speak  of  it,  besides  it  is  neces- 
sary you  should  know  it  because  Aphra  has  lost  her 
husband  and  needs  me.  We  must  return  to  America 
at  once." 

With  her  head  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  her  arm 
about  his  neck  and  the  other  hand  clasped  in  his, 
Hester  told  the  entire  story  of  the  family  secret,  of  all 
her  endeavors  to  outwit  fate  and  override  the  dis- 
grace. She  told  him,  too,  how  Aphra's  bright  young 
life  had  been  sacrificed  as  the  price  of  silence.  From 
beginning  to  end  she  told  it,  not  one  fact  did  she  with- 
hold. 

"How  long  has  Aphra's  letter  been  waiting  here  ?" 
he  asked,  when  she  had  finished. 

"Fully  three  weeks." 

"Poor  dear  child !  She  will  think  we  have  deserted 
her.  We  must  start  for  home  to-morrow.  We  can 
go  to  Liverpool  and  take  the  first  steamer  that  starts. 
I  will  send  a  cablegram  at  once." 

Hester  vaguely  wondered  how  she  would  meet  Dr. 
Phillips  in  the  future,  turning  over  and  over  in  her 
mind  what  she  would  say  in  regard  to  her  altered  con- 
duct. Bright  and  early  next  morning  she  and  Sarah 
began  packing  the  trunks.  Sarah  made  no  secret  of 
her  great  delight  at  Mr.  Westlake's  death.  Indeed,  it 
was  hard  to  tell  whether  that  or  the  near  prospect 
of  meeting  Aphra  pleased  her  most. 

Hester  took  an  early  opportunity  of  telling  Sarah 
that  Mr.  Briscot  knew  the  secret.  Her  own  black  eyes 


236  The  Dark  Strain. 

had  already  shown  her  a  very  different  state  of  affairs, 
which  she  had  been  utterly  at  a  loss  to  account  for. 
She  was  very  far  from  being  pleased  by  this  informa- 
tion, since  it  almost  completely  wrenched  her  power 
from  her. 

Dr.  Phillips  tried  his  best  to  find  an  opportunity 
of  slipping  away  from  his  attentive  wife  for  his  cus- 
tomary call  on  Mrs.  Briscot.  One  excuse  after  an- 
other he  made,  all  in  vain.  With  a  skill  that  aston- 
ished him  and  commanded  his  admiration,  she  parried 
every  excuse  he  could  make.  Finally  he  gave  it  up. 
Then  taking  pity  on  him — as  a  conquering  woman 
generally  will — she  asked  him  to  take  her  for  an  in- 
formal call  upon  Mrs.  Briscot.  As  this  was  consid- 
erably better  than  nothing  at  all,  he  complied. 

They  were  shown  in  the  private  sitting-room,  where 
all  the  topsy-turvy  rush  of  packing  was  going  on. 
Hester  had  never  had  any  opportunity  of  holding  a 
real  conversation  with  Mrs.  Phillips  before,  owing  to 
that  lady's  precarious  state  of  nerves.  She  was  nat- 
urally greatly  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  remarkable 
improvement.  Mrs.  Paine's  timely  arrival  at  the  con- 
clave threw  a  little  light  on  the  subject.  Hester 
quickly  noted  the  look  of  mutual  understanding  which 
passed  between  the  two. 

Altogether  it  was  a  very  social  meeting  in  spite  of 
the  delicate  circumstances.  Hester  was  at  her  very 
best,  gracious,  winning,  entertaining  and  fascinating 
in  the  extreme.  Mrs.  Phillips  could  not  but  admire 
her  and  her  surprise  at  her  husband's  conduct  grew 
remarkably  less. 


An  Honest  Man's  Heart.  237 

"I  begged  the  doctor  to  bring  me  over  to  see  you, 
Mrs.  Briscot,"  she  remarked,  after  a  time.  "I  want 
to  thank  you  and  Mr.  Briscot  for  doing  so  much 
toward  making  his  trip  so  pleasant.  I  have  been 
obliged  to  neglect  his  comfort  so  very  much,  but  now 
I  shall  devote  myself  to  him  entirely." 

"We  have  been  very  glad  indeed  to  have  contributed 
at  all  to  his  entertainment,  and  I  am  heartily  glad  to 
know  of  your  greatly  improved  health,"  sweetly  re- 
plied Hester. 

Dr.  Phillips  saw  at  a  glance  that  some  unforeseen 
occurrence  had  turned  Hester's  tables  as  well  as  his 
own.  His  quick  eye  noted  the  look  of  trust  and  af- 
fection with  which  she  regarded  her  husband  and  his 
losing  tenderness  for  her.  He  really  felt  relieved  to 
see  it.  Since  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  pay  court  to 
her,  no  other  man  would  either  so  long  as  this  ex- 
ceedingly satisfactory  state  of  affairs  existed. 

The  party  broke  up,  bidding  very  friendly  adieux 
and  expressing  hopes  of  meeting  again  at  no  distant 
date  on  the  beloved  shores  of  home. 


238  The  Dark  Strain. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  TRIAL. 

AT  length  the  momentous  day  of  the  Westlake  mur- 
der trial  arrived.  For  the  first  time  since  they  had 
parted  at  Oaklawn,  Frank  and  Aphra  were  brought 
face  to  face  in  the  courtroom.  A  single  glance  from 
each  sufficed  to  tell  all  that  was  in  the  other's  heart. 
Mrs.  Jicks  stared  scornfully  at  Aphra  as  she  took  her 
place.  A  murmur  of  pity  and  wonder  ran  through  the 
crowd  of  spectators  at  the  sight  of  a  woman  so  young 
and  lovely  on  trial  for  the  murder  of  her  husband. 

Seated  as  near  the  prisoners  as  would  be  allowed 
was  Grace,  looking  bright  and  cheerful,  despite  the 
solemnity  around  her.  Had  not  her  Dick  been  work- 
ing for  her  brother  and  was  it  possible  for  him  to  fail  ? 
Ah,  no.  Grace  had  too  much  faith  in  her  lover  to 
doubt  his  success. 

Dick  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Time  and  again 
Frank  looked  anxiously  about  in  hopes  of  catching 
sight  of  his  genial  face.  The  lawyers  for  the  de- 
fense also  seemed  continually  on  the  alert  as  though 
momentarily  expecting  his  coming. 

The  trial  proceeded.     The  servants  of  the  house 


The  Trial.  239 

were  first  examined.  Then  Mrs.  Jicks  dwelt  in  an  im- 
pressive manner  on  the  secret  friendship  between  the 
two  prisoners,  smiling  maliciously  as  the  hot  blood 
mounted  to  Aphra's  brow.  She  told  of  Aphra's  flight 
and  of  the  finding  of  the  dagger  thrust  into  the  heart 
of  the  murdered  man,  swearing  unblushingly  the  same 
weapon  had  been  in  Aphra's  possession  on  the  day 
of  the  murder. 

As  her  story  progressed  murmurs  of  pity  broadened 
out  into  exclamations  of  horror.  Popular  feeling 
turned  with  a  rush  against  the  fair  young  widow. 

Detective  Saugh  took  oath  as  to  his  search  for  the 
fugitive,  and  bringing  her  back  in  custody.  All  the 
evidence  seemed  to  prove  the  truth  of  Mrs.  Jicks' 
words.  The  motive  was  not  wanting.  Aphra's  flight 
from  the  house  at  almost  the  very  hour  of  the  murder 
told  dead  against  her.  Some  believed  that  Frank  had 
committed  the  deed  in  the  heat  of  anger,  then  aided 
Aphra  to  escape,  intending  to  follow  her.  Others 
were  sure  she  had  done  it  herself  and  made  good  her 
escape. 

The  case  for  the  prosecution  closed.  The  defense 
opened.  Trembling  with  excitement,  yet  with  uplifted 
head  and  clear  eye,  Aphra  told  her  story.  Her  inno- 
cent face  must  have  convinced  her  hearers  of  her  inno- 
cence had  the  testimony  against  her  been  one  whit  less 
damnable.  Again  and  again  the  opposing  lawyers 
tried  to  trip  her  up.  She  had  but  one  story  to  tell, 
and  told  it  truthfully. 

Frank  followed  her.  Like  her,  his  story  was  told  in 
an  earnest  manner,  which  showed  how  thoroughly  he 


240  The  Dark  Strain. 

realized  the  seriousness  of  the  position,  answering 
all  questions  with  an  engaging  frankness.  When  he 
was  allowed  to  resume  his  seat,  his  lawyer  said  he 
had  one  more  witness  to  be  sworn.  The  crowd  craned 
its  neck  to  see. 

Dick,  stalwart,  genial  Dick,  stood  before  them.  By 
his  side  was  a  pale-faced,  gray-haired  woman,  with 
sad,  violet  eyes.  Mrs.  Jicks  stared  in  speechless  terror 
at  the  pair.  Her  jaw  dropped  and  her  face  assumed  a 
ghastly  hue.  The  stranger  was  duly  sworn  and  gave 
her  testimony  in  a  peculiarly  sad,  weary  voice: 

"My  name  is  Estelle  Westlake.  I  am  thirty-three 
years  of  age.  The  deceased  was  my  uncle  and  guard- 
ian. My  father  intrusted  my  fortune  to  his  care  until 
I  should  be  married.  Until  that  time  he  was  to  pro- 
vide me  with  whatever  I  needed,  safely  investing  the 
surplus.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  I  became  engaged  to 
be  married  to  a  young  gentleman  of  good  family.  My 
uncle  strongly  objected,  and,  finding  me  resolute,  sud- 
denly removed  me  by  night  to  Oaklawn,  confining  me 
in  the  ruined  tower.  He  afterward  told  me  he  had 
given  out  that  I  had  died  of  yellow  fever  and  had 
caused  a  casket  to  be  buried  and  monument  erected  to 
my  memory.  I  grew  frantic  at  his  treatment  of  me, 
and  tried  every  means  in  my  power  to  escape.  In  a 
few  months  he  informed  me  of  the  death  of  my  be- 
trothed, attributing  his  death  to  grief  for  me.  For 
fifteen  long,  weary  years  I  was  a  prisoner  in  that  one 
room.  No  soul  save  my  uncle  and  Mrs.  Jicks  ever 
visited  me.  In  time  I  lost  my  reason.  I  was  tor- 
mented by  voices  in  the  air,  urging  revenge  for  my 


The  Trial.  241 

wrongs.  Time  passed  on.  I  had  no  count  of  days  or 
years.  By  and  by  my  uncle  came  to  me,  telling  me  of 
his  marriage  to  a  sweet  young  girl.  One  day  I  saw 
her  from  my  window.  My  whole  soul  was  roused  in 
pity  for  her.  One  thought  took  possession  of  me — to 
warn  her  to  flee  ere  she  shared  my  fate. 

"Next  he  told  me  she  was,  like  me,  a  prisoner  in  the 
tower.  He  told  me  these  things  to  drive  me  frantic. 
I  would  spring  at  him  and  try  to  tear  his  eyes  out. 
He  always  caught  me  by  the  wrists  and  laughed  at  my 
helpless  rage.  The  very  air  about  me  seemed  to  incite 
me  to  kill  him  and  set  the  young  girl  free.  Night  and 
day  it  was  in  my  thoughts.  Plan  after  plan  I  en- 
deavored to  lay  to  entrap  him.  While  I  was  still 
haunted  by  this  desire,  he  came  again,  telling  me  he 
had  discovered  a  clandestine  acquaintance  between  her 
and  his  nephew.  He  was  going  to  punish  her.  He 
was  trying  to  think  of  some  way  horrible  enough.  He 
asked  me  to  suggest  some  punishment  for  her.  I 
caught  up  the  dagger  they  had  been  kind  enough  to 
leave,  in  hopes  of  my  taking  my  own  life,  and  made  a 
lunge  at  his  heart.  He  wrested  it  from  me,  threaten- 
ing to  pin  me  to  the  floor  with  it.  I  laughed  in  his 
face  and  told  him  he  could  show  me  no  greater  mercy. 
Tossing  it  from  him,  he  said  he  was  not  through  with 
me  yet.  After  he  left  me  I  was  more  than  ever  deter- 
mined to  kill  him.  I  must  dig  my  way  out  of  my  prison 
and  go  after  him.  I  began  my  work  behind  the  bed 
lest  some  one  should  come  in  and  detect  me.  At  first 
I  used  the  dagger  to  pick  the  mortar  out,  but  I  saw 
the  edge  was  becoming  bent.  As  this  was  the  only 


242  The  Dark  Strain. 

weapon  I  had  to  murder  him  with,  I  tucked  it  in  my 
bosom  and  went  to  work  with  my  hands.  The  rough 
stone  tore  off  my  nails  and  caused  my  fingers  to  bleed. 
Still  I  did  not  care.  Hour  after  hour  I  worked  away 
until  I  had  an  opening  large  enough  to  squeeze 
through.  When  I  got  up  on  my  feet  outside  my  prison 
I  laughed  aloud  in  my  freedom.  I  went  down  the 
stairs,  pausing  at  the  door  where  I  knew  the  other  one 
was.  It  was  not  locked,  but  I  dare  not  enter  lest  she 
should  dissuade  me  from  my  purpose.  I  knew  she 
could  escape  safely  enough  with  him  out  of  the  way. 

"When  I  reached  the  library  he  lay  back  in  his  chair 
asleep.  I  was  frightened  at  first  for  fear  death  had 
robbed  me  of  my  revenge.  Getting  my  dagger  all 
ready  I  woke  him.  Before  he  could  catch  my  hand  I 
buried  it  in  his  cruel,  cowardly  heart.  He  had  always 
worn  my  engagement  ring  on  his  watch  chain  pur- 
posely to  annoy  me ;  before  the  breath  left  his  body  I 
snatched  it.  He  attempted  to  get  it  away  from  me 
and  it  broke.  My  friend  here  has  both  pieces  of  it 
now." 

During  Estelle's  recital  not  a  word  was  heard  with- 
in the  room.  A  hushed  silence  had  fallen.  With 
bated  breath  every  listener  drank  in  the  strange  tale. 
Dick  produced  the  broken  ring,  relating  how  he  came 
in  possession  of  either  piece.  He  told  of  his  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  fact  of  Estelle's  presence  in  the 
tower,  and  how  he  had  traced  her  after  her  flight  to 
a  little  negro  cabin,  where  she  had  arrived  ill  and  help- 
less. 

The  best  medical  assistance  had  been  procured,  and 


The  Trial.  243 

after  a  long,  hard  battle,  she  had  sufficiently  recovered 
to  be  present  at  the  trial.  The  severe  illness  had  lifted 
her  mind  out  of  the  bewildering  chaos,  through  which 
it  had  been  blindly  struggling  all  these  years  of  suffer- 
ing, allowing  reason's  bright  light  to  illuminate  it  once 
more.  Owing  to  her  weakened  condition  it  was  not 
thought  safe  to  bring  her  to  the  courtroom  until  her 
presence  was  needed. 

There  was  no  necessity  of  giving  the  case  to  the 
jury.  Estelle's  evidence  had  banished  all  doubts  as  to 
the  guilty  party.  Mrs.  Jicks'  surprise  and  terror  added 
fresh  proof — were  any  needed — of  the  truth.  The 
judge  dismissed  the  case,  in  a  feeling  address  on  be- 
half of  the  three  wronged  ones — the  two  women  who 
-  had  suffered  such  wrongs  at  the  hands  of  the  murdered 
man,  and  Frank.  He  spoke  most  sympathetically  of 
Estelle's  ruined  life,  that  now,  when  she  should  be  a 
strong,  healthy  young  woman,  she  was  prematurely 
aged  and  tottering  toward  the  grave.  In  robbing  her 
of  fifteen  years  of  her  young  life,  Harmon  Westlake 
had  added  forty. 

When  he  had  finished,  the  crowd  arose,  giving  vent 
to  the  pent-sup  enthusiasm  in  a  prolonged  cheer,  and 
began  to  wend  its  way  out  of  the  building.  The 
triumphant,  impetuous  Grace  rushed  to  her  brother's 
side,  hugging  him  gleefully,  right  in  the  presence  of 
all  the  spectators.  She  hugged  and  kissed  Aphra  and 
Estelle.  The  three  cried  over  each  other  as  women 
will.  Before  the  crowd  had  passed  beyond  the  door, 
Grace, — Oh,  horrors ! — threw  her  arms  around  Dick's 
neck,  squeezing  him  vigorously  and  shamelessly 


244  The  Dark  Strain. 

hugged  him.  No  dainty,  gentle  pressure,  but  a  regular 
bear  hug,  exclaiming :  "You  darling  fellow !  I  knew 
you  would  pull  them  through  all  right !" 

Just  think  of  it!     Her  mother's  daughter! 

Dick,  taking  it  all  in  dead  earnest,  returned  her 
caresses  with  interest  and  compound  interest — he 
kissed  her,  there ! 

Of  course,  prosecuting  Estelle  for  the  murder  was 
out  of  the  question.  No  soul,  except  Mrs.  Jicks, 
would  raise  one  finger  against  her.  That  her  days 
were  numbered  was  too  plainly  evident.  Her  misap- 
propriated fortune  was  returned  to  her  as  soon  as 
arrangements  could  be  made,  and  she  returned  to  her 
native  city  to  spend  her  days  with  the  aged  mother 
of  her  betrothed,  who  received  her  as  one  from  the 
dead. 

Mrs.  Jicks  had  crept  silently  and  swiftly  out  of  the 
courtroom  at  the  very  first  opportunity,  and  hurried 
back  to  Oaklawn  as  fast  as  horses  could  carry  her. 
And  there  Aphra,  Grace  and  Frank  found  her,  sitting 
in  the  library,  in  the  self-same  chair,  with  the  self- 
same dagger  planted  in  her  breast,  and  Harmon  West- 
lake's  picture  clasped  in  her  hand. 

She  was  not  quite  dead  when  they  found  her.  Her 
fast  glazing  eyes  looked  upon  them,  while  a  ghastly 
smile  overspread  her  features. 

"You  shall  not  punish  me,"  she  gasped  faintly.  "I 
am  going  to  him,"  and  she  fell  back  dead. 

Aphra  decided  to  remain  at  Oaklawn  until  she 
should  hear  from  her  mother.  Grace  and  Frank  de- 
termined to  stay  with  her.  Mrs.  Jicks  was  buried  in 


The  Trial.  245 

the  same  plot  with  Mr.  Westlake.  Aphra  had  guessed 
something  of  the  woman's  love  for  her  husband,  and 
requested  that  it  should  be  so. 

How  strange  it  seemed  for  her  to  go  about  this 
strange,  old  house.,  completely  her  own  mistress  to  do 
as  she  liked,  and  go  where  she  wished.  She  and 
Grace  traveled  over  every  foot  of  it,  visiting  the  old 
tower  without  a  shadow  of  dread.  Frank  undertook 
the  task  of  looking  over  his  uncle's  papers,  preparatory 
to  settling  up  his  affairs.  In  the  library  desk  he  found 
a  paper  addressed  to  himself.  On  opening  it  he 
found,  first  of  all,  a  note  which  read: 

"FRANK  GREYDON  :  The  accompanying  papers  are  a 
^•family  inheritance,  and  as  such  I  turn  them  over  to 
you.     See  that  you  follow  the  instructions,  or  the  curse 
of  your  grandfather  will  rest  upon  you. 

"ISABELLE  JlCKS." 

Wondering  what  the  inheritance  could  be,  Frank 
proceeded  to  inspect  the  remaining  papers.  The  larger 
one  was  written  in  a  trembling,  uncertain  hand. 

"NEW  ORLEANS,  Oct.  5,  1847. 
"To  HARMON  WESTLAKE,  MY  SON  AND  HEIR: 

"I,  Jason  Westlake,  being  laid  at  the  door  of  death, 
in  consequence  of  a  duel  fought  between  myself  and 
Alfred  Lovedale,  my  erstwhile  friend  and  neighboring 
planter,  do  hereby  depose  these  circumstances  in  writ- 
ing, which  I  leave  to  you,  my  son,  to  make  use  of 
whenever  the  time  may  seem  most  opportune  for  the 


246  The  Dark  Strain. 

revenge  of  my  death  upon  said  Alfred  Lovedale,  or 
his  lawful  heirs,  as  the  case  may  be.  Should  you  fail 
to  so  avenge  my  blood,  may  the  curse  of  a  father, 
supplemented  by  the  punishment  of  a  just  God,  rest 
upon  you,  night  and  day,  until  the  day  you  die. 

"Said  Alfred  Lovedale  did  some  thirteen  and  one- 
half  years  ago  become  the  father  of  a  negro  female 
child  by  his  black  slave  Lucille.  Also  some  twelve 
years  ago  he  again  became  the  father  of  a  child,  also 
a  female,  by  this  same  slave.  This  child  is  nearly 
white,  and  is  named  Aphra.  Said  Alfred  Lovedale 
did,  after  this  second  child  had  attained  the  age  of  five 
years,  remove  from  his  home,  taking  with  him  the 
white  child  and  leaving  the  negro  child  with  its 
mother. 

"He  went  North,  passing  himself  off  as  a  widower, 
and  there  lived  for  seven  years  under  such  false  pre- 
tenses. Three  days  ago  he  returned  accompanied  by 
the  white  child,  to  this  city  on  business.  Meeting 
them,  I  asked  him  if  that  were  one  of  his  brats  by 
Lucille.  He  struck  me.  A  duel  followed,  and  I  lie 
here  mortally  wounded,  while  he  has  fled  to  Europe. 

"I  now  solemnly  charge  you  not  to  lose  track  of  him 
and  that  child,  and  to  use  this  knowledge  of  her  birth 
as  a  means  of  avenging  my  blood. 

(Signed)  "JASON  WESTLAKE." 

Mechanically  Frank  opened  the  other  paper.  Here 
were  items  jotted  down  in  his  uncle's  own  fine,  delicate 
chirography. 


The  Trial.  247 

"1852,  July  20th. 

"Learned  of  Alfred  Lovedale's  return  to  America 
with  daughter  Aphra.  She  is  a  fine  appearing,  olive 
skinned  brunette,  bearing  few  traces  of  negro  blood. 
She  is  highly  educated  and  fitted  to  adorn  the  social 
position  her  father  aims  to  place  her  in. 

"HARMON  WESTLAKE." 

"1855,  June  8th. 

"Aphra  Lovedale  is  to-day  married  to  Carlos  Mere- 
dith, a  New  York  business  man. 

"HARMON  WESTLAKE." 

"1856,  Jan.  2d. 
.    "Alfred  Lovedale  killed  in  a  railway  collision. 

"HARMON  WESTLAKE." 

"1856,  Sept.  5th. 

"Aphra  Lovedale  Meredith  became  the  mother  of  a 
daughter.  Name,  Hester. 

"HARMON  WESTLAKE." 

"1870,  May  30. 

"Learned  that  Sarah,  a  young  negress,  the  grand- 
daughter of  black  slave  Lucille  and  Alfred  Lovedale, 
has  become  an  inmate  of  the  Meredith  home.  Serves 
as  maid  to  Hester,  her  cousin. 

"HARMON  WESTLAKE." 


"1875, 

"Hester  Meredith  marries  Robert  Birney  of  New 
York  City.  H.  W. 


248  The  Dark  Strain. 

"1876,  Sept.  21. 

"Hester  Meredith  Birney  is  mother  to  a  baby  daugh- 
ter, named  Aphra  Lovedale  Birney.  Sarah  is  at  the 
Birney  home  as  nurse.  H.  W." 

It  was  not  until  Frank  read  this  that  he  grasped 
the  slightest  idea  to  whom  all  this  referred.  With  a 
cry  he  bounded  to  his  feet.  It  was  Aphra!  His 
Aphra !  Whose  grandmother  was  the  daughter  of  a 
black  slave  and  born  out  of  wedlock.  This,  then,  was 
the  dreadful  secret  that  had  caused  Hester  Birney  to 
sacrifice  her  daughter's  happiness.  With  a  moan  of 
despair  he  sank  back  in  the  seat.  Burying  his  head  in 
his  arms  he  wept.  The  strain  and  excitement  of  the 
last  weeks  proved  too  much  for  him.  His  grief  must 
have  its  way.  Had  such  a  blow  fallen  upon  him  at 
any  other  time,  it  would  have  taxed  all  his  staying 
powers ;  now  it  unmanned  him  completely.  He  could 
not  accept  it  in  the  philosophical  manner  of  James 
Briscot,  who  had  been  born  and  reared  in  the  liberal- 
minded,  democratic  North.  The  blood  of  Southern 
aristocracy,  which  had  flowed  through  the  veins  of  his 
ancestors  for  more  than  two  hundred  years,  was  bred 
in  him.  He  struggled  against  this  inborn  pride.  He, 
who  had  always  scorned  the  ownership  of  such  a 
commodity. 

Yet  he  loved  her  too  well  to  give  her  up.  After 
all,  she  was  in  no  way  to  blame.  Was  it  right  that 
she  should  suffer  for  another's  sin?  Was  there  one 
single  trace  of  the  negro  blood  in  her?  Might  there 
not  be  some  stain  as  dark  or  darker  upon  his  own 


The  Trial.  249 

family  escutcheon,  and  more  nearly  affecting  him,  than 
this  did  Aphra  ?  What  would  she  say  if  she  knew  that 
black  nurse  she  had  always  been  so  fond  of  was  her 
mother's  own  cousin !  Poor  Aphra !  He  knew  if  no 
trace  of  mixed  blood  showed  itself  in  the  third  genera- 
tion, it  never  would,  hence  their  offspring  would  surely 
be  free  from  any  taint. 

For  two  mortal  hours  he  sat  there  waging  his 
battle.  At  last  his  love  and  pity  for  this  unfortunate 
girl  won  the  victory.  His  uncle's  dastardly  conduct 
toward  her  aroused  every  manly  instinct  within  him 
to  right  that  wrong  so  far  as  lay  in  his  power.  He 
had  no  need  to  read  the  concluding  note  to  awaken  his 
sympathy. 

"1896,  June  30. 

"First  step  in  the  revenge.  I  have  at  last  shown  my 
hand,  and  married  Aphra  Lovedale  Birney  under 
threat  of  disclosing  the  secret.  Thereby  working  the 
two-fold  satisfaction  of  having  the  hated  race  in  my 
power,  and  humbling  my  sister's  pride  in  the  dust. 
Before  many  weeks  I  shall  take  great  delight  in  in- 
troducing to  her  this  descendant  of  a  wench's  brat  as 
my  wife. 

"Whether  or  no  I  fulfill  my  father's  command  to 
avenge  his  blood,  let  him  judge,  who  shall  see  this 
cultured  darling  presiding  at  my  table  as  hostess  to  a 
set  of  licentious,  wine-bibbing  gamblers,  shall  see  her 
subservient  to  my  every  caprice,  as  was  her  negro 
ancestor  to  that  of  her  master;  shall  see  her  placed 
in  the  position  rightfully  hers  of  a  cross-blooded  slave. 
"HARMON  WESTLAKE." 


250  The  Dark  Strain. 

When  Frank  read  this  note  his  blood  rose  to  boiling 
heat.  "Curse  him !  The  fiend !"  he  exclaimed,  strik- 
ing his  clenched  hand  upon  the  desk.  "He  deserved 
his  death  if  ever  man  did.  As  for  these  papers  and 
that  revenge,  I  will  burn  both  together." 

With  set  teeth  and  shining  eyes,  he  watched  them 
until  the  last  fragment  had  been  consumed.  Scarcely 
had  the  last  charred  remnant  disappeared  when  Aphra 
opened  the  door. 

"Are  you  offering  a  sacrifice  ?"  she  asked  smilingly. 

"I  have  laid  a  hideous  idol  of  mortal,  fiendish 
egotism,  upon  the  altar  of  an  honest,  earnest  love, 
Aphra,  which  has  consumed  the  monster.  There  is 
no  wrong  now  in  offering  my  heart's  best  love  to  you. 
Will  you  accept  it,  sweetheart?" 

He  opened  his  arms  to  her,  and  she  sought  their 
shelter,  all  unconscious  of  the  dark  strain  of  blood 
coursing  through  her  veins,  the  knowledge  of  which 
would  have  placed  an  insurmountable  barrier  between 
her  and  her  lover  forever. 

Before  night  a  carriage  arrived  at  the  door,  and 
Aphra  was  soon  folded  within  her  mother's  loving  em- 
brace. Mr.  Briscot  was  warmly  welcomed;  introduc- 
tions followed,  and  for  the  first  time  Hester  learned  of 
the  imprisonment  and  trial.  She  was  greatly  shocked. 
Had  such  tidings  reached  her  two  weeks  before  she 
started  for  America  she  would  have  thought  the  dis- 
grace overwhelming.  But  these  last  weeks  had 
worked  a  mighty  change  in  Hester  Briscot.  She  saw 
now  there  were  other  things  to  live  for  save  wealth 
and  position. 


The  Trial.  251 

Next  day  Oaklawn  was  deserted,  except  by  the 
servants  left  in  charge.  Aphra  returned  home  with 
her  parents,  looking  very  sweet  and  very  young  in  her 
garb  of  widowhood.  Frank  and  Grace  accompanied 
the  party  as  far  as  Philadelphia. 

Thurza  met  them  with  a  grim  welcome  that  was 
like  a  wet  blanket  to  the  happy  brother  and  sister. 

"How  is  the  mater?"  asked  Frank,  anxiously: 
divining  from  Thurza's  manner  that  her  spirits  must 
be  at  a  very  low  ebb. 

"She  is  very  poorly  indeed;  the  shock  has  nearly 
killed  her,"  replied  Thurza,  lugubriously. 

Without  waiting  for  further  encouragement  Grace 
hurried  to  her  mother's  room,  followed  by  Frank. 
^— -"Well,  mother,  darling,  you  see  we  are  here  safe  and 
sound.     I  told  you  Dick  would  pull  Frank  through 
all  right." 

"Oh,  Grace,  how  can  you?  Don't  you  see  I  am 
prostrated  at  your  behavior?  Such  language!  To 
say  nothing  of  the  disgrace  my  only  son  has  brought 
upon  his  afflicted  mother.  I  will  try  to  bear  my  bur- 
den while  my  feeble  strength  remains,  and  when  you 
look  on  my  cold  face  I  hope  you  will  think  of  your 
ungrateful  conduct."  Mrs.  Greydon  held  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  eyes  and  wept  copiously. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  mother ;  but  really,  you  see,  it 
was  not  my  fault.  I " 

"Enough  said.  Enough  said,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Greydon,  feebly  waving  her  hand.  "Pray  do  not  at- 
tempt to  exculpate  yourself  to  me.  It  is  not  worth 


252  The  Dark  Strain. 

your  while.  I  am  doomed  to  be  trampled  upon  by  my 
disobedient  children.  My  youngest  daughter,  who 
might  marry  a  gentleman,  prefers  stooping  to  a 
butcher.  My  only  son,  who  should  be  a  pillar  for  his 
mother  to  lean  against,  and  build  a  family  name  upon, 
brings  everlasting  disgrace  upon  me  by  implicating 
himself  in  a  horrible  murder.  Leave  me  alone.  Let 
me  die  in  peace." 

"I  hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,  mother,  dear?" 
chimed  in  Grace.  "Dick  has  won  some  distinc- 
tion as  a  detective,  now ;  who  knows  but  he  may 
be  a  lawyer  next,  and  then,  perhaps,  a  judge. 
Just  fancy  my  being  Mrs.  Richard  Strong,  wife  of 
the  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court.  Then  the  money 
we  will  have  now !  Two-thirds  of  Uncle  Harmon's 
money  comes  to  us,  and  when  Frank  marries  Aphra, 
all  of  it  will  be  in  the  family." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  you  intend  marrying  your 
companion  in  disgrace?"  fairly  screamed  Mrs.  Grey- 
don,  turning  to  her  son. 

"Yes,  mother,  I  do.  She  is  a  lady  born  and  bred. 
You  surely  cannot  object  to  her  as  a  daughter-in- 
law." 

"Then,  think,  mother,  of  all  that  money  being  kept 
in  the  family,"  Grace  slyly  suggested.  "You  can 
live  at  Oaklawn  in  the  greatest  style  and  the  Judge 
and  I  will  spend  our  winters  with  you.  Beside,  mother, 
you  should  see  Aphra's  mother.  Anything  more 
proud,  exclusive,  cultured,  beautiful  and  wealthy,  you 
could  not  imagine.  Just  think  of  that  exquisite,  worn- 


The  Trial.  253 

an  being  mother-in-law  to  your  son  and  your  being 
mother-in-law  to  her  daughter!" 

Grace's  glowing  description  of  Mrs.  Briscot,  and 
their  prospective  fortune,  so  far  revived  Mrs.  Grey- 
don's  drooping  spirits,  that  she  ordered  sweet-bread 
croquettes,  white  wine  and  charlotte  russe  for  tea. 


THE    END. 


A     000035912     5 


